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Hello, my name is Daniel Molloy.
You have probably already heard of me. I’m pretty famous - in the right circles. See, I am a two-time Pulitzer award winning investigative journalist and I’ve written loads of important books and articles. I also have a wife (Alice), and two daughters, Kate and Lenora.
But enough about them for now!
The morning my life changed I woke with a bit of a hangover. Ok, a very big hangover. It’s not my fault I write best when I drink an alcohol, ok?
And an important deadline for a big article was coming up. But before I could continue writing for the day, I poured myself another drink from the flask I had hidden in the hollow post on my side of the bed. I also did some drugs.
I could tell that Alice (my wife) had been up for a while because her side of the bed was messy and cold. I am, after all, an investigative journalist.
When I finally started to feel better I got dressed. I put on a pair of gray sweatpants with a jizz stain on the right thigh (oopsie!), a pair of cute fuzzy slippers and a t-shirt with my favorite singer, The Vampire Lestat (A/N: If you haven’t heard of TVL, go listen to Long Face right now it’s SOOOO GOOOD lol!)
Anyways, Lestat is a singer who claims to be a vampire and sings about it. He has a record out and he is also super popular on TikTok. Before Lestat I used to like old people music like Lou Reed, Nirvana and My Chemical Romance. But right now Lestat is all I am listening to when I am writing. Alice (my wife) doesn’t like him. She says his lyrics “sucks” and that he is “cheesy”.
I think Alice (my wife) is a poser.
Anyways, I stood in front of the mirror and raked out my loose, soft gray curls and sighed, as they were yet too short to throw up into a messy bun. I looked into the mirror with my dreamy green eyes. I guess I look alright in a “distinguished” sort of way, and people tell me I am handsome, even for my age, although sometimes I just think they’re trying to be nice… (I am 71 but I am immature for my age,ok!)
Lately, when I’ve tried to kiss Alice (my wife) she turns away and says I reek of weed and vermouth and that makes me kinda insecure. Then I take some more drugs not to feel so ugly.
I sighed and wiped away a single crystalline tear from my red-rimmed green orbs.
Then I sighed again and bounced downstairs.
As expected Alice (my wife) was waiting for me in the living room. Instead of looking mad as usual though, she was smiling. And she was not alone!
On teh couch sat the vampire Lestat!
He looked exactly like he did on my t-shirt except less flat and not made of fabric.
Next to him sat two other men.
A handsome black man with eyes that were even more dreamy and green than my own. I knew about him from the fan twitters. His name was Louis de Pointe du Lac, Lestat’s on again/off again boyfriend, and supposedly a vampire too!
The other man I had never seen before. He looked to be of south-asian descent with smooth, dark brown skin, a slim and graceful build and a cascade of shiny black curls which was pushed back, framing a face with a historical nose, a sensitive mouth and a pair of huge, expressive eyes the color of pumpkin spice latte.
I couldn’t help but stare and I felt my face blush.
“What the merde is this?” asked the vampire Lestat in his melodic voice, which had been singing so many super rock music hits.
I turned to look at him and blushed deeper. Then I also looked at Louis and blushed, for courtesy’s sake. He gave me an approving nod and I swallowed heavily.
What was going on? Was I dreaming? Or was it all the drugs I had just snorted?
The unknown man interrupted my thoughts.
“This”, he said, gesturing toward me elegantly with a long fingered hand, from which an expensive black-and-goldtipped cigarette dangled, “Is your newest acquisition, Lestat.”
Then he whipped his head to look directly at me with those pumpkin-flavored eyes:
“And you’re not dreaming, Daniel,” he added. “This is all real. This is happening.”
But how had he known what I was thinking?!
I suddenly recalled that Lestat’s lyrics had implied that vampires are able to read thoughts, and there had been much discourse in the forums about whether or not it was a metaphor or misinterpretation. Apparently not. And did that mean…
That man was a vampire too?!
“Yes, Daniel,” replied the man. “And my name is Armand. But you may call me Boss, as I am your new owner… Well, together with Lestat and Louis”, he was quick to add.
“Pwah!” exclaimed Lestat. “What do I need a boring vieil homme for?”
Alice (my wife) snickered, then snorted. I had forgotten she was even in the room, but now I got perturbed.
“Hold on!” I ejaculated. “This is all too queer. What do you mean ‘my new owner’?”
“It means,” interjected Alice (my wife) “that I sold you!”
Whaaaat?
“And for a fortune too! But don’t ask me why these weirdos want to pay so much for a decrepit old alcoholic junkie.”
“I am n- wait, you can’t just sell people? Isn’t that illegal?!”
I was pretty sure that was illegal but it had been a while since I checked.
“Hahaha!” laughed Alice (my wife) scornfully.
“Check our marriage certificate - I mean contract again, and read the small text, if your ancient eyes are able to. I own your ass.”
She smiled, triumphantly. “And now I’ve sold it!”
“But why?” I cried.
“Becuase you are old and smelly and do so many drugs and drinks so many alcohols that I can no longer afford to take care of Kate and Lenora.”
“But-” I protested, tears running from my aged, yet distinguished eyes and with only a little bit of snot from my nose as it was otherwise stuffed with drugs.
“Kate and Lenora are adults!”
Alice (my wife) just continued to laugh haughtily while counting the pile of coins that was placed in front of her.
“Seriously,” grumbled the vampire Lestat, towards the one who called himself ‘Armand’.
“What am I supposed to do with this guy? Il est un mess.”
I suddenly regretted ever making that stan account.
Armand then moved, with a speed faster than I could see, one that could only have come with vampiric powers, and towered highly over me with his height. I felt his gaze run over me, like some sort of holistic practitioner was waving a pair of topaz crystals around me in a strange ritual.
What would my spiritual diagnosis be? Or was this much more like an appraisal?
They must all have been able to read my mind because in that moment Louis interrupted, a smirk on his lips.
“I am the art appraiser Daniel. Armand, he’s more… Hands on.” He then wiggled his eyebrows and returned to frowning at the paintings on my living room wall.
And just like that, Armand pinched my chin between his graceful fingers, but strong fingers and pried my jaw open with force! His fingers were cold, cold like a corpse…
“Good gums,” he declared dispassionately, and a chill ran down my spine and an unexpected warmth snaked its way to the front of my sweatpants, near the jizz stain.
“Sacre bleu, he is pissing himself!” exclaimed Lestat.
“Only a little,” I whimpered, but Armand drew away from my breath. “Ugh, weed and vermouth,” he sighed, but he was smiling the smallest of smiles. The loss of his cold grasp against my skin felt enormous.
“So?” said Lestat, tapping his long glittery nails on the coffee table with a force that made Alice’s (my wife’s) coins bounce, and her stop counting to catch them. “What am I supposed to do with him?”
“Worry not”, Armand admonished with a handwave. “I paid dearly for the boy, and I always get a return on investment. This “decrepit old man” happens to be twice Pulitzer award winning journalist Daniel Molloy and I plan for him to write your autobiography.”
“Hmm…” Lestat wrinkled his nose and picked at a feather in his plush purple boa.
“You’re right: None has lived a life like Lestat de Lioncourt, and it’s a tale that demands to be told. Do you believe you can do it justice, mortal?”
I was about to open my mouth to answer, before I was interrupted by Louis, who was now tearing to pieces a particularly offensive sign on the wall that used to say “Live, Laugh, Love” in cursive, but now only said “AUGH”.
“He must.” Louis said. “We own his ass.”
“As Louis so elegantly put it”, Armand confirmed.
Lestat considered me once more, for a moment. His gaze was not the burning heat of the vampire Armand’s twin embers, but more like being run through with an icy sword. I felt pinned, but I don’t know if I would have moved, if I could.
Alice (my wife) remained seated on the couch, now given up on counting her treasure, and instead pulled a bucket of popcorn out from a popcorn bucket-sized beige pillow.
Munching, it looked as if she was thoroughly enjoying this dissection of my person.
The terrible truth is, dear reader, so was I.
“Very well”, said Lestat finally with a fruity little gesture. “We can keep him. But he is your responsibility, Armand.”
A fire was stoked in Armand’s eyes, but his smile remained small and placid.
“Then it is settled. Not to worry. I will have him house-trained in no time.”
And with that Armand whipped out a collar and a leash from his pocket, and before I could do anything, he had snapped the collar around my neck with vampiric speed.
I looked down and saw the name “Boy” engraved on a heart shaped tag, but then Armand tugged on the leash, and stumbled, forced to follow along.
I was being led away. Away from my old life, my old home and my old family, all while Alice’s (my wife’s) scornful laughter rang in my ears.
But then a beat rose, streaming from the limousine parked in front of our apartment building. Gleaming black with tinted windows and sparkly purple letters on the side: “TVL” is said.
The Vampire Lestat. It was here, to take me away.. Into a new life. A life with three vampires. The sound of Lestat’s lyrical poetry filled my ears:
“Oh, oh, oh, Wah ah ah!”
Who knew what the night had in store?