Igor, The Twelfth, Squared

Igor, the Twelfth, Squared hesitated at the library door. He could hear the faint scritching noise of an old quill pen on parchment paper. He sighed. The boss was at it again. The Others would not be pleased. Unfortunately, it was up to him to interrupt the writer behind the doors and deliver the bad news from his unhappy brethren.

“Vampires,” he muttered. “Why was I born into servitude to these beasts?”

Igor was the twelfth son squared in a long line of servants who catered to vampires. Every firstborn son was named Igor with the appropriate generation number after. The number of firstborns named Igor has grown exponentially over-large that they had to be squared to keep up. This Igor had no interest in the family business and hated vampires with a passion.

“I would stake the whole lot if I could!” He grumbled. This would never happen, of course. He was compelled to protect the bloody beasts at all costs, including his life.

Taking a deep breath, he rapped on the library door. The scritching noise stopped. There was mumbling and muttering.

“Come in! This better be important!”

The doors squeaked on their hinges as Igor the Twelfth Squared opened them wide.

“Sir, I apologize for disturbing you,” he simpered. What came out of his mouth was not what was running through his head. In his head, he was telling the damn vampire to quit this nonsense and get out of the house. He would love a night off.

Dracula said, “Well. Quit standing there. What is it, Iggy?”

Igor, the Twelfth, Squared abhorred the nickname Iggy. He kept his face as calm as a lake on a windless day.

“The others want to know when they get to go out to feed.”

Dracula’s eyes sparked with orange fire. “I suppose the supply of blood in the fridge is no longer good enough? Microwaving is out?

Igor, the Twelfth, Squared sucked on his lower lip before answering.

“They want to chase down dinner, cause some screaming, and feel the rush of fresh blood in their mouths. And, they mentioned that they are tired of your excuses. No one wants to read about the adventures of Dracula. It’s old news. Sir, their words, not mine.” “I suppose they have a point. At the very least, it would be good to taste fresh blood on the lips,” Dracula said rising from his chair.

He could hardly believe his ears. Was it possible that Dracula was going to take a break from lucubrating his memoirs? Oh, what would he, Igor do with his free time?

“We require your help,” Dracula whispered in his ear, quick as a mosquito moving from the table to his side.

“Damn these blood-thirsty oily old…,” Igor, the Twelfth, Squared was thinking before he was interrupted by Dracula.

“You know, Iggy. I can read your thoughts. You might want to be careful how loud you think when you are near me.”

Igor, the Twelfth, Squared had every reason to turn milky white as the blood drained to his feet in fear.

“Would you like me to arrange a marriage for you?” Dracula asked with a leer. “You can be replaced.” The old vampire made a rude gesture with his hands showing just how that would happen.

“No, Sir. I will inform the Others to prepare for dining out this evening,”

“Be a good servant, Iggy,” said Dracula. “I will be along shortly.”

Igor, the Twelfth, Squared closed the doors behind him. He walked with rabbit-like speed to let the Others know of dinner plans. Afterward, he ran to his living quarters to change clothes.

“Vampires,” he muttered. “I would stake the whole lot of them if I could.”

©2021 Tracy Swartz

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