Welcome to Buffyness and Nightlurkers Presents: Tales of the Vampires, Issue #2! In the previous installment, an old, dangerous captive Vampire named Roche regales a group of child Watcher-hopefuls about what it’s like to be a vampire. To really understand them. Get in their heads. See what makes them tick. And a lot of it is human blood and the nighttime.

But there’s other things! We see Spike and Drusilla’s love for one another as a reason for existence. We see a teenage vampire named Stacy finally feeling like she fits in as a part of something magical.

Joss Whedon can really put the human element in something as seemingly black-and-white as murderous vampires. I love this kind of shit!

We move on to Issue #2.

Tales of the Vampires, Issue #2 [January, 2004]

“Tales of the Vampires, Part II” – Joss Whedon

The children stare up at Roche with rapt attention. “But enough about me,” he says. “We’ve heard stories all morning. I believe it’s time… to feed…”

How… very… dramatic. Ellipses can do that. Roche still kinda looks like Abe Vigoda, so maybe Abe Vigoda is actually a vampire right now and he runs around biting people in the dead of night? Can you imagine that shit? I wouldn’t be scared, I’d be laughing.

Anyway, the children leave the room while Roche drinks dog blood or whatever it is that they’re serving him. They have a picnic lunch while talking amongst themselves. I care more about what’s in the lunch than what they’re talking about personally! Looks like delicious sandwiches! “I’m ten years old,” says Sophie, frowning. “I shouldn’t be talking to monsters. I should be playing with very expensive dolls.”

A girl named Edna is suspicious of this whole ordeal. Why would some old piece of shit vampire be used by the Watchers Academy for, and I quote, “children’s story hour”? Well, the other kids know that they’d stake his ass if he didn’t cooperate.

“Then why is he so excited?” Edna wonders.

TIME FOR MORE CHILDREN’S STORY HOUR, KIDDOS! Roche’s mouth is covered in blood. He’s smiling like a mentally challenged horse. “Shall we have more tales?” he jubilates, hiding his boner. The kids don’t really wanna anymore, but their teacher tells them to stfu. His name is Mr. Dunworthy and he looks like he smells like boiled beef. Edna thinks something is very, very off…

“Spot the Vampire” – Jane Espenson

It’s Christmas! We’re at the mall! The story’s narration is in the form of A-B-C-B rhyming poetry. Here, like this: “Search this image before you and study it well, for it harbors a gore-sucking fiend forged in hell.” Cute!

So who at this mall is the vampire? Tiny Sue? Mama Rowan? Pam? Pam’s boss? Uncle Moe? Tony Q. Sasone? Jiminy Fleischman? Angie McFadden? Colonel Fezzyloafer? Donnie T.? Maximilian “Lumpy” Conroy?

“The shoplifter flinches, he knows he’s been spotted. But does he want jewels? Or to bite your carotid?”

Is it Edith? Some whiny kid? Jeffrey Epstein? Maybe it’s fuckin’ Santa, bitches! Wouldn’t that be something else?

“No one said evil couldn’t be jolly.”

Is it Patty McO’Malley? Cheeky Joe? Francine with a club foot? Erik Estrada? Big Mean “Vampire Face” Dracula Jones?

“The puzzle’s unfair, the clue is too subtle. I set out to confuse, I sought to befuddle. But I’ve had my fun, you’ve searched high and low. And now, gentle reader, you’re ready to know.”

Is it the narrator? Is it the narrator? Is it the narrator? It’s the narrator, isn’t it? The big who-cares narrator?

Joke’s on everyone. The scene of the mall was in the mirror, and we know mirrors will never reflect the vampire. You are dead before you even realize it. Good day.

“Jack” – Brett Matthews

4 Whitehall Place. London. November 1988.

“Superintendent?”

“What is it, Constable?”

Here’s what it is, Superintendent: you need to speak to the motherfucking Inspector right now. Yeah, that’s right. You heard me. Inspector James Whitcomb. Ever heard of him? He’s too old for the job, see? He’s too old to be wrapped up in… whatever it is he’s wrapped up in at the moment. Superintendent Mallory would have never assigned him the job if it was going to turn out to be… well… uh… you know…

“I appreciate your concern, Mallory. As always.” This old man looks like senile Clint Eastwood. Leave him alone, by the way.

OK, fine then, sir. Inspector. But “there’s been another”. And Superintendent Mallory throws a file on Whitcomb’s desk.

*dun dun duuuunnnn*

Inspector Whitcomb enters a residence full of people. A corpse on the floor is draped in a white sheet. It looks like there was a struggle.

(This story is going to be about Jack the Ripper being a vampire)

Whitcomb takes a peak under the sheet and is like “BRRRTTT”.

“Jack. All the names in the world… and you choose one as common as that. But you’ve done one thing right, Jack. You’ve got them all asking the wrong question,” Whitcomb thinks as he stares at the front page of the newspaper.

“WHO IS JACK THE RIPPER?”

“But you don’t fool me,” he continues. “I’ve looked too close, too long, too hard.”

Whitcomb’s milky eyes go over charts and sketches of victims. The question isn’t who he is… but rather… now get this… ready?…

…

what.

And he knows. It’s a vampire. Jack is a vampire. Jack the Ripper is a vampire. Jack the Ripper is a filthy vampire.

Late at night, Whitcomb moseys over to the London Bridge (which isn’t falling down), but Jack isn’t “home”. He knows he made too much of a mess of the previous victim to actually get some nourishment out of him. He’s still hungry, and he’s gonna go get more of that precious, precious blood.

Somehow, Whitcomb finds this blood-lecherous Jack with his neck-biting monkeyshines trying to feed off of a young lass. Jack gets distracted by the still-intact woman and leaps toward Whitcomb fangs a-ready. He’s lumpy and gross.

“Die, old man,” Jack says, knocking Whitcomb to the ground.

“Yes, Jack, I’m old…” Whitcomb replies, seemingly unhurt. Then he vamps out himself! A twist! “Older than you know.”

Vamp Whitcomb looks like if Albert Einstein did fucks with a werewolf. Whitcomb cracks this Jack character in the face and sends him flying about 1,000,000 feet. “You like attention, Jack? You have mine.” Whitcomb grips Jack’s neck and pushes him up against the brick wall of the bridge. “Writing to papers. Running your mouth. Making a mess of it all… did you really think I’d let you ruin it for us all?”

Whitcomb stakes him and reduces him to dust. Untraceable dust. “You should probably thank me, Jack… I’ve just made you famous.”

Later, Whitcomb approaches Mallory and asks to be reassigned from the Jack the Ripper case after all. Too tough. They may never find him anyway.

“Dust in the wind, Mallory… dust in the wind…”

Final Thoughts

So far so good, although I vastly preferred Issue #1. Still, a fun series! The vampire’s point of view is very interesting.

I wish I could bite some necks for fun, but noooooooo. They would just send me to jail.