Doom, Gloom, and Drool or Bram Stoker Never Wrote Thisby Alan Loewen
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

“Thesun is setting.” My friend intoned while striking a dramatic pose. An author ofdark fantasy romances with a body count, he had a long, bad habit of affectinggarish pretensions.

I groanedunder my breath. “Yes,” I replied. “The sun is setting.” We continued our walkaround the pond that graced his property as the crickets began their nightlyvigil and the bullfrogs tuned up their nocturnal chorus.

“Thesun is setting,” he repeated.

“Youalready said that,” I shot back. “Who cares?”

“Thesun is setting. The creatures of the night will be upon us soon.”

“Oh,yes,” I answered with heavy sarcasm. “Katydids and bats. We’ll be feeding themosquitoes soon. If you’re so wired up about it, we can go back to the house.”

Hepaused for a moment. “The children of the night! What beautiful music theymake!”

“Youtwo-bit hack!” I snapped back. “That line is from that old Dracula movie.”

Suddenly,a huge four-legged beast burst out of the darkness and threw me to the ground. Thedark form stood over me. Its open jaws dripped drool on my face, and its fetidbreath threatened to suffocate me.

Myfriend laughed fiendishly and ran away, leaving me to my fate.

“Getoff of me, Brunhilde!” I yelled at my friend’s overly friendly Saint Bernard.

Thatwas thirty minutes ago. Brunhilde adores me and refuses to let me go.

And myfriend?

That penny-a-wordscribbler left me to drown in doggy drool.