Okay, here it is, an exclusive, world-premiere excerpt from Murray the Vampire. It involves a scene where Murray the vampire, Tricia the vampire slayer, and the unwilling Mitchell, are driving to a known vampire location. Where it is, or who they hope to find there has not been decided. Here is the excerpt:
The old beat up sedan that Murray was driving squeaked slowly to a stop.
“That doesn’t bode well,” said Murray, not referring to the vehicle’s lack of forward motion, but rather, directing his comment towards the large and seemingly angry mob that had blocked the road.
“Relax,” said Tricia, “they might not be headed to the same place we are.”
Murray looked at Tricia with incredulity. “Yes, because large numbers of people with torches and pitchforks just congregate on a whim.”
“Mhmfgmgds,” said Mitchell through his gag, realising that it was futile, but that he had been disrespected long enough and that he had better start asserting himself on the situation. Not surprisingly, he continued to be ignored.
“Why don’t you just push through them slowly beeping the horn?”
“Because I don’t think that would end well, Tricia.”
“Go on,” said Tricia, “give it a go.” And with that she leant over and beeped the horn. The horn sounded about as bad as the rest of the car looked, and emitted a noise not unlike an emphysemic duck’s entreaty for a lighter.
“What did you do that for?” panicked Murray.
Tricia’s response, which was to be of the dismissive, ‘Oh-nothing-bad-is-going-to-happen-because-of-my-actions’ variety, was cut short by a large angry man slamming his pitchfork into the bonnet of the car, accompanied by a selection of unpleasant and threatening words, of which the specifics were difficult to ascertain, but the gist was unmistakable. Murray waved with a complicated gesture that he intended to convey apologies for the incident and that it in fact was not him who had honked in the first place. Whether or not the gentleman in question grasped all the nuances Murray would never know, but the man did grunt, slam the pitchfork into the car again before discontinuing his sideline in rampaging and continuing on with the rampaging that the mob had gathered to perform in the first place.
Murray glared at Tricia, and continued to glare at her whilst he wound down his window. He continued to glare at her whilst he reached through the open window and operated the door handle, on account of the door handle inside hanging limply, which made it impossible to operate. Go on, insert your own low-brow joke here, I don’t mind. Murray exited the car and began searching for someone who, he hoped, would be amenable to a spot of conversation. Murray quickly realised that this was nigh on impossible whilst glaring at Tricia, and so, with a series of gestures somewhat less complicated than those he had employed just earlier, conveyed his displeasure. That being taken care of, Murray was able to focus on searching. Quickly giving up on the idea that any one of the crowd would be happy to chat, Murray began looking for anyone who was not the man who had crumpled the car like an unwanted and rust coloured post-it note.
The preponderance of large angry men in the crowd made the task quite difficult and in the end Murray was forced to just select one who wasn’t carrying a weapon.
“Is this a vampire hunt?” asked Murray, surprised at his own directness, rationalising it milliseconds later by deciding that members of angry mobs were probably not at a place in their lives where conversational finessing was appropriate. All of this occurred to Murray before the large, patchily-toothed man answered. Partly, this was because the speed of rationalisation is unmatched; partly because the man took a little while to comprehend Murray; and partly because he was pausing slightly before his answer to convey his contempt for both the question and the questioner. Which was a nice piece of conversational finesse, albeit not of the verbose kind, Murray admitted to himself later.
“Is you backwards, boy? There ain’t no such thing as vampires,” the man asserted, quite wrongly to Murray’s mind, but with an air of righteous confidence.
“Oh, an honest mistake, sir, no offence meant.”
To this display of obsequiousness the man just grunted and turned back towards the mob and began, in about equal parts, shouting and spreading saliva. Murray had to fight the crowd to position himself into the man’s attentive visual zone whilst staying, as best he could, out of the man’s spittle zone. An endeavour in which Murray wasn’t entirely successful.
“If you don’t mind me asking, what brings a lovely mob like this out on a night like tonight? If not vampires—obviously not vampires,” Murray corrected himself in the face of the Perfect Storm originating from the bearded man.
“Damn right, there ain’t no vampires. What we have here is a much more serious threat to our way of life, a serious threat to our children, and a serious threat to our economy. There’s a couple of queers up there trying to get married.”