Burying the evidence… In style
Greetings, all. I’m honored you could make it. I think today’s column will be of interest to most of my readers, but first things first: after some discussion and dismemberment, it has been decreed that my little column will be appearing on WordPress and on Daverana.com once every two weeks. While I understand that this is a hardship for those of you who truly need guidance as to how to interact with your fellows, there is no need to fret – being undead gives you all of eternity to polish. In the meantime, the off weeks will be catered to by my fellow columnist, The Old Monster. While I can’t condone or approve of anything the Monster says or thinks, even I haave to admit that the column does seem to be popular among some of the less discerning undead. I hear there’s even some mortals reading it. Oh, well, there’s no accounting for taste. Or lack thereof.
Speaking of taste, today’s column deals with a subject that is, or at least should be, a constant concern for anyone who wishes to make a hit on the undead social circuit. I refer, of course, to the selection and decoration of one’s living quarters.
While it is evident that economic concerns might limit the options available, it is also true that most of the undead can have low risk access to other people’s money, especially if you eat the bodies afterwards.
The way I see it, there are essentially two ways to go on the decoration front this decade: Sophisticated or Rustic. Both can be made to send the message “I’m undead, and therefore mortals should be frightened of entering my lair”, but both face specific challenges in order to avoid falling into a mixed hodgepodge.
Sophisticated, of course, is the classic way to go. This is de riguer when choosing property in the chic parts of town, or if you are lucky enough to fall into a chateu somewhere. Vampires tend to be very good at Sophisticated styles. The trick here is to avoid any furnishings produced after about 1900 or so. Heavy drapes -preferably in the darker crimson shades – and dark upholstery are a great counterpoint to moodily lit renaissance artwork depicting some great atrocity or another. Please remember that it is a social gaffe to have any Christian imagery or crucifixes among the décor – your vampire guests will be discomfited by it. Mysterious Indian, Vodoo or African figurines, if made of dark poished wood, often add to the effect, and I recommend them heartily – the cognoscenti among your guests willl appreciate it.
Common mistakes in this style generally come from cutting corners. Nothing ruins a sense of dread quite as quickly as adding anything sold by Ikea, or anything solar yellow. Modern equipment such as plasma screens or ipods may be present, but only in the bedrooms, never in the areas seen by your general guests (we assume that anyone who gets as far as the bedroom is never going to leave, at least not while still alive). Excesive lighting is also a no-no. And while there is an ongoing debate about the advisability of allowing dust and cobwebs, take it from me, it won’t get you any points from those you truly want to impress. Finally, for the more entertaining parties, I recommend keeping plastic sheeting in an easily accessible closet in order to cover the upholstery - blood stains are a bear to remove, especially once they dry.
The Rustic style is suitable for those country seats that aren’t chateaus. I’m talking about the typical run-down old house at the end of a rural or suburban street, generally referred to as “the old Stevens place. Nobody goes there anymore, because the family was all found dead, hanging from the rafters.” When dealing with rustic, it is always better to cultivate the dust and spiders – the idea here is to send the message that the house should be deserted, but everyone knows it isn’t. Furniture is typically sturdy and wooden, and there must be a shed or garage filled with a veritable arsenal of sharpened farm or gardening implements, which, despite the dust, must always have a serviceable edge. Chainsaws must always start on the first pull, and basements should have no working lights.
Common mistakes in this style arise from the need to live here. While it is acceptable to have one room with modern amenities hidden somewhere no one will ever see, it is not OK to clean the windows, have pretty little pillows on the couches or own a tabby cat with a pink collar and a bell (horribly disfigured black tomcats that hiss and spit dementedly and attack anything that moves are acceptable). Another thing that willl immediately alert the knowledgable is if you mix styles. Seventies kitsh and a twenties rocker do not – and can never - go together. Actually, if you want a whole list of ways to turn terrifying into tacky, just drop in on the Old Monster.
In either style, it is important to have at least a pair of large, well-refrigerated storage closets in which to keep the bodies until you are done with them.
Hope this was of use, and now go throw out that ole Hello Kitty clock on the mantelpiece – you, too can actually impress your visitors and terrify those mortals who don’t yet know that they’re the main course.
See you in a couple of weeks.
Hieronymous
Keeping Up with the Joneses
Getting something decent to read is just so annoying when one has, over the past few centuries, seen the whole of human nature on display. Having this experience with people living, dead, undead and, best of all, in terrible pain and just about to die, as well as damned souls, various demonic manifestations and phantasms, I can confidently tell you that most literature is written for people who have no grasp on reality.
Think about it. Take your favorite romance, for example. The book ends as soon as the pretty maiden (if you actually believed she was a maiden, you just haven’t lived long enough) conquers the noble heart of the young prince, weaning him away from the ugly stepsister. Let’s be honest. The young prince will be very happy with his juvenile bride up until she starts showing signs of wear and tear herself. Then he’ll trade her in for a younger model – even if the new liason is unofficial. As Mel Brooks used to say, “it’s good to be the king.” The young woodcutter who woos the beautiful princess, of course, suffers the same fate as soon as his pot-belly shows signs of life. This, of course, is why the old queen is always portrayed as a mean hag in these tales. She’s been there, done that, and knows how it ends.
Adventure, westerns and science fiction show normal people doing things normal people wouldn’t do. And, in real life, don’t do. Not much solace there.
This process of elimination eventually leaves us only with the horror genre, in which people and creatures act in a way that comes naturally to them, with blood and guts described in the corrrect manner, and no heroes around to spoil the verisimilitude. The pervading emotion is fear, and the big motivation is self-preservation, just like in the real lives of short-lived mortals. The fact that death and violence are so pleasant to read is icing on the cake. Don’t you just love it when the virile, handsome hero gets his brains unexpectedly bashed out by a hammer-wielding maniac in a hockey mask, or the nubile young heroine is eaten by zombies - the feeling of every tooth described in agonizing detail? Horror is real things happening to real people, the more unspeakable, the better.
But there’s a problem. We need to go to the princess of Transylvania’s five-hundredth birthday gala at her place on fifth avenue, and we know that talking about Stephen King or Dean Koontz will get us shunted to the sidelines and immediately scratched off any future guest lists. Even having one of those books lying on a coffee table at home is likely to have the same effect. You just can’t afford to take the risk.
So what’s the solution? You’ve already read all the acceptable horror. You can recite the Cthulu mythos by heart. You’re sick and tired of having to run and hide The Tommyknockers in a drawer every time the doorbell rings. You need something to read which won’t endanger your social prospects, but, at the same time gives you a believable look at life, not some literary imbecility. You don’t think you could survive a repeat of the The Five People You Meet in Heaven fiasco. Ugh. You don’t want to throw up five pages into the book yet again. What to do?
I’ll let you in on a little secret. The literary snobs that abound wherever decent people get together aren’t all that different from the bored housewife reading The National Enquirer in the laundromat. They are just as morbid, and enjoy reading about murder, rape, debauchery and blood just as much as the lowest-browed mechanic. They have no trouble getting their fix, and yet are safe in the knowledge that they will not be criticized for it.
Why? Because they hide behind the pretense that their brand of titillation is justified by the artistic merit of the work they read. Just as an example, even the most jaded among the undead would find himself nodding in appproval and thinking “yes, that’s how it would have happened in real life” after reading Of Mice and Men. You might be irritated at Raskolnikov for overthinking things but would admit that his heart, as shown in the first half of Crime and Punishment, is in the right place.
And there are more extreme examples, as well. Work that, despite its classic status, satisfies even the most unsavory tastes. Sanctuary is a novel by William Faulkner. As such, you expect long, drawn-out descriptions of uninteresting things. But in this novel, there are long, drawn out descriptions of most entertaining depravity and horror. He crosses lines which, when reading a classic, you expect no one will dare.
Any of these books will meet the standards for how humans really act while allowing you to face your friends and share that knowing look. The look which says “I’m reading about all the good stuff, and no one suspects a thing.” There are other classics that do the same, of course, but I’ll let each of you discover his own road now that I’ve set you on the path. Just remember, it is very, very important to avoid Jane Austen at all costs. That way lies madness.
Until we meet again, happy hunting, and may your human blood come from the original container.
Hieronymous
