This is LONG AS HELL and really very special, I wrote it in one swoop without thinking ahead at all. Its basic plot structure is stolen from “Goodbye, My Brother” by John Cheever. I think it has a few good parts but on the whole is poorly written and pretentious. But I think it’s funny.

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GOODBYE, MY BROTHER WHO IS A VAMPIRE by MURDEROUSNESS

Being born into some modigreat times of wealth, I always believed to be a Mackenzie was something worthy of pride. We didn’t have quite the longest or most distinguished history in all of New England, but so remained our pride. I lovingly recall those long summer days in our beach house, play-acting as the noble knights of King Arthur, fighting to defend the noble family of Mackenzie. Since receiving my doctorate in Ancient English History, I laugh at the myriad bumumptions we made about the nature of knightly duty, but it doesn’t sully the companionship and solidarity I felt with my brothers on the cool nights following our feats of daring. We had risked our life to continue the Mackenzie line. We were brothers in arms, our resolve standing strong, a bastion of hope: The castle of Mackenzie would stand forever, forever fighting against injustice. It was more than a little grandiose, I could admit that even then, but our intentions were as sincere as any to be found in the annals of history. To be a Mackenzie was to be part of an unshakable whole.

I now drive towards the old beach house, my heart swelling with memories, a heart that has been beating continuously for 42 years, a heart that had been broken by a cheating wife, and a heart that here hoped to be soothed once more in the balm of familial love. My marriage was short and tumultuous, and left me childless. I suppose I was lucky for that, I have lost all pbumion for romance or commitment, and a living reminder of my pain would bumuredly become a target for undeserved resentment. My brother, Roger, was of a different cloth. He was a large, sanguine man, and he had been married to Diane for 18 years. As I slowed my car to a stop on the familiar driveway I saw Roger and his wife on their way to the front door. I almost didn’t recognize another man standing with them, unable to believe it to be their son Andrew.

“Roger!” I called. “How long has it been?”

“At least ten years, Harold. Andrew was barely more than an infant when you saw him last!” Roger bellowed as he ran towards me, his slight belly showing the age on this former Adonis. “It’s good to be back again! You can’t imagine how long I’ve been waiting to see the Mackenzies all together again!”

“The way we were meant to be.” I replied.

“Oh ho! Trying to be profound, eh, Harry? Stick to your history books!” He said jovially. “Leave the poetic stuff to Will! Ha, I wonder what he’ll be driving today! God, knowing him it’ll be brand new. Especially since his latest book is what, only 2 months old?”

“Yeah, and he just got a new contract for 3 more novels. He wouldn’t tell me the exact amount on the phone but it’s in the millions!”

“He probably blew the advance on cars before the ink dried!” Roger exclaimed, laughing.

“And here he is,” I remarked as a red Ferrari convertible pulled, purring, into the large driveway. “My God, Will,” I shouted over the revving of the engine, “You get all this praise for, what, analyzing the human condition and all you ever do is try to impress your buddies by showing off your damn cars!”

“Maybe you don’t think my materialism becoming, or my pride in my possessions sufficiently humble,” He said, killing the engine and stepping out of the car. “But what you fail to realize is that you are completely impressed!” Laughing, we embraced and entered the house.

It was hours later before Errol arrived. Errol was always the strangest of the four Mackenzie brothers. Roger was the athlete, Will the charmer, I the pragmatist. Errol was different. In our fantasies of knighthood and fighting for honor, Errol would frequently pretend he was the page to an imaginary king, whom he always described as “golden, with hard, rippling flesh” who would need to be accompanied on long quests to find some obscure magical artifact. He would try to tie his exploits in somehow with our play by claiming the artifact he sought was necessary to prevent the dissolution of the Mackenzie line, but his contributions to the game were frequently nothing more than going off by himself and making breathless comments about the bravery and strength of his “king.”

Also, Errol is a vampire. That’s weird, I guess.

Errol didn’t arrive until 9 PM that night, after dinner was over, and we were all engaged in a game of poker. Without warning, the living room windows burst open, and a bolt of lightning cracked the night sky in the distance as a gust of wind howled through the house. A fey little bat flew through the open window, and in a puff of smoke, the bat transformed into my brother, Errol.

“HELLOOOOO BUDDIES!” Errol exclaimed, deathly pale in his ankle-length black cloak, “Is it too late to deal me in, ****es? Oh wow, I’m just kidding, guys! You aren’t ****es—not yet at least! LOL!”

“Did you just say ‘lol’ out lou—” I began, before Will interrupted me.

“What is that supposed to mean, Errol? Not ****es yet? We’re your goddamn family. Please. You’re just trying to sound provocative. You have no ****ing clue what you’re really saying. Please. Try to be tolerable. If you want to play we can deal you in.” Will said, exasperated already at Errol’s antics.

Although my absence from the family was lengthy, Errol had me beat easily. None of us had seen or even heard from Errol since he was 18. At that time, Errol was a withdrawn, insecure person, not only with his vampirism and eternal thirst for human blood, but with his own identity. One day, he appeared before the entire family at breakfast, with packed bags, and told us that he was going to California to study theater. We were stunned, thinking Errol would soon return, or if he were serious, at least contact us. Instead, Errol would go unheard-from for over 2 decades.

A few hours and several whiskey sours later, the game continued. Errol was rationalizing his frequent losses by claiming his “squeeze” Rachel was the real poker champion. Upon being asked why Rachel didn’t accompany him, Errol danced around the question like he was on ****ing America’s Best Dance Crew presented by Randy Jackson. Which he referenced no fewer than six times in 2 hours. Although a general awkwardness pervaded the proceedings, the night truly turned sour when, in a slightly drunken error of dexterity, Diane gave herself a small paper cut with one of her cards. It went unnoticed by Diane or anyone else, until we saw Errol’s eyes suddenly widen whilst his pupils rapidly contracted.

“Oh gosh! Diane, wow, you’re bleeding, alright.” Errol said, entranced.

“All right, Errol, it’s just a little cut, leave my wife alone.” Roger said, defensively.

“Leave her alone? What did you think I was going to do? Gosh! Oh Roger, you’re so silly. Silly. So…silly…silly. Roger. Silly.” Errol replied, every second becoming more transfixed by the blood dripping out of Diane’s finger.

Will produced a tissue from his pocket and handed it to Diane. As she moved to press the tissue against her bleeding finger, Errol let loose a shriek and leaped across the table onto Diane, knocking her backwards onto the floor.

“NO! DON’T YOU DARE, BREEDER! DON’T WASTE THE YUMMY!” Errol screamed in a rage. Slapping the tissue out of her hand, he lunged forward and placed his mouth over her wound. After taking two long drags on the sweet, sweet blood, Errol’s skull met the swing of Roger’s crucifix, knocking the poor bastard out.

“Sorry, Errol, but I had to. You’ll feel better in the morning.” Roger said, the pity thick in his voice. Diane was shaken but unhurt, and we all headed for bed, hoping tomorrow would be a better day.

The next day saw a visit to the beach. Roger’s son, Andrew, had joined some other neigborhood kids for a game of volleyball. Errol, fully dressed and under a parasol, licked his lips whilst noticeably leering at the young man. Roger knew what Errol was doing, but was trying to remain silent. I could hear short phrases whispered under Errol’s breath, “full of life,” “yummy,” “fabulous personballs,” and the like. Will, desperate to break the tension, spoke up.

“So, uh, Errol. I don’t know what you’ve been up to these past few…hell, decades. You probably know, but I’m a bestselling author now. There was some buzz a few years back I might win a Nobel Prize,” he said, his digression filling him with pride. “Ever read any of my work?

“Well, gosh, brobro. I totally have, you know! I was in Frisco—that’s San Francisco, you know. Did you know? It is—and I was like ‘Errol, buddy, you’re, like, illiterate! You need some book larnin’!’ I said ‘book larnin’ in a southern accent, too. SO FUNNY. So I go to Borders and what name do I see on the shelf but my old brobro William S. Mackenzie! I totes had to buy it, brobro.” Errol said, wrists-a-flyin’.

“Oh, so you’ve read my work! What did you think?” Will asked, eager for praise.

“Ohh, total crap! Sorry man, but it was totally chauvinistic. I didn’t know I had Hemingway for a brother! I thought you understood people more, to be honest!” Errol replied.

“Chauvinistic? Hemingway? Are you ****ing very special? My books are about the fragility and injustices of human existence!” Will said in disbelief.

“Humans? Ugh! Breederfabulous persons, all of them! Human existence is just so boring, brobro! I can’t relate to mortalfabulous persons thinking they’re all cool. Write a book about me, then those Swedes will be over you like me on Ramon’s male reproductive organ! I mean, Rachel’s woman's genitals!” Errol said.

I could tell Will’s ire was rising and Roger was still seething. I knew this situation was a powderkeg and I felt in my heart an almost ancient duty to protect the unity of the Mackenzies. I didn’t want to have fought all those fantastical childhood battles for nothing.

“Errol, I’ve been meaning to walk the old ridge again. You know it has the most beautiful view around. Let’s walk it together, we can catch up.” I said, desperate he’d agree. Luckily he did.

As we got out of earshot, I let my emotions get the best of me and I said to him with no small amount of venom, “Why the hell are you doing this, Errol? ****. You abandoned us for ****ing decades and since coming back here you’ve been astronomically fabulous persongy. I can’t believe what a male reproductive organ you’ve become.” I instantly knew I shouldn’t have said it, I had just done what I had called Errol aside to prevent. I knew I had stuck a wedge between Errol and the family. I was not being a good knight.

Errol’s face became more serious than I had ever seen it.“Well, Harold, do you want me to tell you the truth? The truth is you all are bloodies. Bloodies are total bumes. It’s an ugly word, I know, but it’s apt,” he said, in an uncharacteristically serious tone. I had no idea what ‘bloody’ meant but I bumumed it was a hateful term for mortals. “All of you. Roger and that dumb wife think only about physicality. Only about their dumb bloody human bodies. Always running around and havin’ sex. fabulous persongos! That tart son of theirs, always flauntin’ his warm, bloody flesh, always teasin’ me. I can’t take that kind of cruelty!” I could feel my fists clenching. Errol’s old “king” wasn’t looking for anything to help the Mackenzies. They were looking for an escape. I could tell he had found it. He had become an enemy. He was trying to break the family. “And Will! God, thinking he’s so FABULOUS just ‘cause he can write about some bloodies with problems. As if there were anything less important! If there’s one thing I’ve learned it’s that bloodies just don’t understand how little they matter.” Errol turned away from me, and I bent over and picked up a nearby branch that had fallen from a tree.

“And you, Harold. I always respected you. You always had a clear head. You always knew what was going on. Like, what was really going on. You understood things.” I began to loosen my grip on the branch. “Not anymore. You became totally silly.” Hearing the demon’s final insult, I made my decision, and buried the branch in Errol’s heart. As his misty satanic essence flowed from his eye sockets, I felt like the most triumphant knight who ever bore the Mackenzie coat of arms. For the first time, my victories weren’t just imaginary. I had, in reality, slain an enemy of our family. Errol crumbled to the ground, and looking at him, pathetic, fabulous persongy, dying, and alone, I felt the first pang of regret. He looked at me with his last ounce of strength, and I saw the pain in his eyes. Not just the pain of being impaled with a piece of wood. Of course I would see that pain. That pain wouldn’t be noteworthy. I saw the pain of betrayal. More than anything, he was hurt by the fact that the man who drove the stake through his heart was his own brother. He opened his mouth, but all that came out was a sob and a choke, and Errol’s life ended. That’s when I realized what I had done. I realized what I had just become. Shaking with confusion and terror, I collected my brother’s dead body and took him back to the rest of the family. When they recognized what it was I was carrying, all conversation stopped, the color drained from their faces. I laid Errol on the ground, tears streaming from my eyes.

“I did this. I killed him. I destroyed the Mackenzies. I killed him. There’s nothing left.” I fell down to my knees, and kissed Errol’s forehead. “Goodbye, my brother.” Although my heart would continue to beat for 45 more years, that was the day I died.