Reaper Man

all right for human werewolves. They just keep their own clothes on. I mean, they might get a bit ripped, but at least they’ve got them handy on, right? Whereas if I see the full moon, next minute I’m walking and talking and I’m definitely in big trouble on account of being very deficient in the trousery vicinity. So I have to keep a pair stashed somewhere. Mr. Shoe—”
    “—call me Reg—”
    “—lets me keep a pair where he works.”
    “ I work at the mortuary on Elm Street,” said Mr. Shoe. “I’m not ashamed. It’s worth it to save a brother or sister.”
    “Sorry?” said Windle. “Save?”
    “It’s me that pins the card on the bottom of the lid,” said Mr. Shoe. “You never know. It has to be worth a try.”
    “Does it often work?” said Windle. He looked around the room. His tone must have suggested that it was a reasonably large room, and had only eight people in it; nine if you included the voice from under the chair, which presumably belonged to a person.
    Doreen and Arthur exchanged glances.
    “It vorked for Artore,” said Doreen.
    “Excuse me,” said Windle, “I couldn’t help wondering…are you two…er…vampires, by any chance?”
    “’S’right,” said Arthur. “More’s the pity.”
    “Hah! You should not tvalk like zat,” said Doreen haughtily. “You should be prout of your noble lineage.”
    “Prout?” said Arthur.
    “Did you get bitten by a bat or something?” said Windle quickly, anxious not to be the cause of any family friction.
    “No,” said Arthur, “by a lawyer. I got this letter, see? With a posh blob of wax on it and everything. Blahblahblah…great-great-uncle…blahblahblah…only surviving relative…blahblahblah…may we be the first to offer our heartiest…blahblahblah. One minute I’m Arthur Winkings, a coming man in the wholesale fruit and vegetable business, next minute I find I’m Arthur, Count Notfaroutoe, owner of fifty acres of cliff face a goat’d fall off of and a castle that even the cockroaches have abandoned and an invitation from the burgomaster to drop in down at the village one day and discuss three hundred years of back taxes.”
    “I hate lawyers,” said the voice from under the chair. It had a sad, hollow sound. Windle tried to move his legs a little closer to his own chair.
    “It voss quite a good castle,” said Doreen.
    “A bloody heap of moldering stone is what it was,” said Arthur.
    “It had nice views.”
    “Yeah, through every wall,” said Arthur, dropping a portcullis into that avenue of conversation. “I should have known even before we went to look at it. So I turned the carriage around, right? I thought, well, that’s four days wasted, right in the middle of our busy season. I don’t think anymore about it. Next thing, I wake up in the dark, I’m in a box, I finally find these matches, I light one, there’s this card six inches from my nose. It said—”
    “‘You Don’t Have to Take this Lying Down,’” said Mr. Shoe proudly. “That was one of my first ones.”
    “It vasn’t my fault,” said Doreen, stiffly. “You had been lyink rigid for tree dace.”
    “It gave the priest a shock, I can tell you,” said Arthur.
    “Huh! Priests!” said Mr. Shoe. “They’re all the same. Always telling you that you’re going to live again after you’re dead, but you just try it and see the look on their faces!”
    “Don’t like priests, either,” said the voice from under the chair. Windle wondered if anyone else was hearing it.
    “I won’t forget the look on the Reverend Welegare’s face in a hurry,” said Arthur gloomily. “I’ve been going to that temple for thirty years. I was respected in the community. Now if I even think of setting foot in a religious establishment I get a pain all down my leg.”
    “Yes, but there was no need for him to say what he said when you pushed the lid off,” said Doreen. “And him a priest, too. They shouldn’t know those kind of words.”
    “I enjoyed that temple,” said Arthur, wistfully. “It was something to do on a Wednesday.”
    It dawned on Windle Poons that Doreen had miraculously acquired the ability to use her double-yous.
    “And you’re a vampire too, Mrs. Win…I do beg your pardon… Countess Notfaroutoe?” he inquired politely.
    The Countess smiled. “My vord, yes,” she said.
    “By marriage,” said Arthur.
    “Can you do that? I thought you had to be bitten,” said Windle.
    The voice under the chair sniggered.
    “I