THE CAPE

Brent Long stood in front of the dank little shop on Dillard  Street. "This must be the place," he mumbled under his breath as he pushed the door open, thinking it would be nice to be out of the October wind and rain..

He was saddened to find the inside of the shop was just as cold, damp and dark as the city street outside. Adding to the feeling, the shop was accentuated by strange shapes of unrecognizable objects cluttering the shop that cast even stranger shadows from the light that came in through the shop window   from the street lamp on the corner. If anything, the shop was creepy and felt like death. Maybe this was the perfect place to find the right Halloween costume.

"Hello. Is anyone here?" Brent called out. There was no answer.  He called out again.
 From the back of the shop a small man emerged, all  dressed in black with an old fashioned "Dickey" collar on a white, starched  shirt and narrow black cravat. Everything about the man looked as though it had  seen better days.
"Hello. Are you Mr. Travan?" Brent asked.
"The  very one. How may I help you?" came the reply in a deep voice very much unsuited  to the stature of the man.
"I am, Brent Long. I believe my friend, Roger  Stone, called you about..."
"Oh, yes," Travan cut in, wringing his hands.  "I spoke with him this morning. I believe I have just the thing for
you." He led  Brent toward the rear of the shop. "You are quite sure you want the vampire  costume?" he said over his
shoulder.
"Why, yes. Why wouldn't I?" Brent  said, somewhat confused.
Travan stopped at a doorway that led into what  appeared to be storeroom. "Good. Good. Then wait here. I will be just a moment,"  he said with a wry grin and a short bow, hands still wringing.

Brent  leaned against a glass case and thought to himself, "What the hell? It's just a  costume for the Halloween party at Roger's home. So what's the deal? It was odd  that he absolutely insisted I come her to rent it."
Momentarily, Travan  returned carrying a large, flat box that appeared to be not unlike a gift box  from Macy's, large enough to hold a gown or winter coat.
"Yes. Here it  is. Just the thing, as I told, Roger."
Brent looked at the box.  "Shouldn't I try it on to see if it fits or something?"
"Oh, definitely not. Totally unnecessary. It will fit you perfectly," Travan assured him as he continued wringing his hands as if to wash himself of some chronic filth.
Brent took the box from Travan's hands. "Well, I think I should, you know." Brent began to open the box.
"No. Not in my shop. It is..."  Travan paused a moment. "Let's say it's against the rules and completely unnecessary," he said with a slight bow as he backed away a step or two. His  hands seemed to wash even faster and  more diligently.
"Well then, I'll  try it on when I get home then. If it doesn't fit, I'll bring it  back."
"That's...um...not really advisable, Mr. Long. Believe me. The  costume will form itself to you. You see, it is specially made. My costumes are  made by an old woman in my employ. She has been sewing these for what seems like centuries. Trust, Mr. Long. It will fit perfectly as if made especially for  you."
Brent shrugged. "Whatever you say, Mr. Travan. And how much is  this?" he said, holding out his American Express Card.
"Oh, no. This has  already been taken care of," Travan said, again with a small bow and what could  only be described as an evil, lecherous smile.

Outside on the street,  Brent felt very odd at the experience in Travan's shop. "How could such a dank  and lifeless place exist in the city," he wondered. "And that little cockroach  of a man, he gave me the creeps. Continuously wringing his hands and groveling.  What an evil looking and acting person he was. I'll have to give Roger a piece  of my mind at the party tomorrow night."
Roger did not arrive home until  well after ten. He thought of trying the costume but thought better of it.  "Maybe, in the morning," he told himself, making his way to the bedroom with a  yawn. "How odd, he thought. So early and I'm feeling dead tired. But then, after  that shop and Travan person..."
The following morning the alarm did not  sound at 6:30 as usual. It began its frantic buzzing at 7:40. Brent opened one  bleary eye and stared at the clock face for a moment. Then the time sunk in.  "Holy shit! I'm going to be late."

Brent literally jumped out of bed and  ran to the bathroom. In record time he had shaved, dressed and, hair still  dripping, was out the front door headed for his car. The time was 7:58.
A light, October rain was falling which only helped to snarl traffic on  I-5. Brent arrived at his office at 8:32. Fortunately, the "old man" was not in the office, but at an early morning conference. Brent sat at his desk and guiltily tried to look as if he had been there working for an hour or  more.
At 10:14 his desk phone rang. It was Roger.
"Hey. Did you  get to Travan's shop? Creepy old fuck, isn't he?"
"Yes. I found the shop  and I have the costume. Thanks for sending me to that rat hole. How did you ever  find that place, anyway?"
"Travan is a very old friend, Brent," Roger  said. His smile was almost audible through the phone line. "Oh, and I have a  date for you. Someone, I just know you will love."
"Nope. Don't need a  date. You know I haven't dated since Margaret and I split up."
"Oh, buddy  boy. You will need a date tonight. Trust me. This is going to be the first night  of the rest of your...um...life."
"Oh, sweet Jesus," Brent exclaimed,  slamming the handset back in its cradle. Then it occurred to him. "Trust me.  Trust me. Trust me." The exact same words that old, disgusting cockroach used  last night. "Trust me." Brent shook his head. "It means nothing, he thought and  went back to work.
By 4:30 it was already getting dark outside. Brent had  finished cleaning up the last of his work and was putting on his coat when the  desk phone rang. "Oh, shit," he thought as he picked up the  receiver.
"Brent Long."
"Are you Roger's friend?" asked a female  voice on the other end of the line.
"Yes. Who's this?"
"Hi. My  name is Victoria. Roger told me to call you. I'm your escort for the Halloween  party."

For a moment Brent said nothing. The voice did sound rather interesting. It was soft, yet it had a deep huskiness about it that seemed overtly sexual. For some reason Brent could not understand, Victoria's voice seemed to raise a feeling of warmth inside him - maybe a wanting. He could not be sure.
"Well, that's nice, Victoria. I'm happy to hear from  you."
"Nice to talk to you for a bit before the party too, Brent. Don't  worry about picking me up. I'll see you at the party."
"Oh. I see. Good.  Then I'll see you at the Roger's." Brent hung up the phone and picked up his  briefcase. Oddly, that feeling of warmth still lingered inside him. He shook his  head and walked out of the office.

On the way home he stopped at Quizznos  for a subway sandwich. And later at home in the shower, he could not help but  notice a tingling in his crotch when he remembered Victoria's voice on the  phone.
Looking down at his somewhat inflated penis, he laughed, "Well,  old friend. Tonight you just might get lucky."
Still dripping, Brent went  into the bedroom. There on the bed was the box that awful little man, Travan,  had given him. He opened it. Inside was a note.
"Do not wear the cape.  Bring it with you to the party and put it on there."
Brent shook his head  again. "Why not wear it? Wrinkles, maybe?" he thought to himself.
Under  the note was a very fine, silk, formal tuxedo jacket and pants. He pulled on the  pants. How odd. They fit perfectly, just like Travan told him they would. Next  he put on the stiffly starched shirt and bow tie. Again they were perfect, as if  made especially for him. The jacket, as well, seemed tailor-made for him. He  went to the mirror in the bathroom and looked at himself.
"Wow," he  thought. "I look the perfect vampire." Even his jet black hair seemed to have  dried and smoothed itself down flat against his scalp. He thought he appeared  the perfectly trimmed Bela Lagosi.
Brent checked his watch. His time was  short. He threw the cape over his arm and went to the garage. He placed the cape  on the passenger seat and started the car, backed out of the driveway and headed  across town to Southeast Portland and Roger's party. All the while Victoria's  voice seemed to echo inside his head.

Roger lived in the Lauralhurst  neighborhood on the other side of town. The houses there were very old, built  sometime in the '20s - some even earlier.But the homes were kept immaculate.  The lawns and gardens were beautifully kept. Brent pulled into the circular  driveway and parked. There were several other cars there already. He strode up  to the massive front door and raised his hand to knock.
The door opened  and Roger stood there as if waiting for him. "Come in, my friend." Then turning  away in a loud voice, Roger said, "He's here. Our guest of honor." There came  the sound of voices and laugher from deep inside.
Roger took Brent's arm  and ushered him inside. "So, you spoke to Victoria  this afternoon?"
"Yes.  She called my office. She seemed quite nice. And what's this guest of honor crap?"
Roger turned his head to face Brent. "Nice? Yes. Well, you will  see for yourself. And good. You brought the cape." Roger ignored Brent's last question entirely.
"Well. Yes. It's part of the costume. But why not wear  it. Shall I put it on?"
Roger's face was suddenly hard. "No, Brent. Not  yet." Brent could feel Roger's fingers tighten around his forearm. Then easing  his grip, Roger said,"Welcome to our little club. The wearing of the cape is  a...shall I say, ceremony. You will see in a few minutes."
Brent and  Roger walked down a long hallway then entered a large room. The other guests  were there waiting. As Brent entered the room, the others began to applaud.
"Friends, may I introduce, Mr. Brent Long."
The guests  raised their glasses in welcome. Voices congratulated Brent and everyone seemed  rather merry. Someone placed a crystal flute of champagne in Brent's  hand.
While Brent watched, Roger raised his hand. The room became very  quiet. With  a wave, a fire burst forth in the great stone fireplace alone one  wall and the lights dimmed.
"Now friends, the time has come."

As  Brent looked around the room, All the men seemed to be wearing the same costume  - black tuxedo, stiff white shirt. The whole nine yards. The one thing that was  different was they wore their capes. "A great gathering of wannabe Dracula's,"  he thought. "How very funny." All the women were dressed in complimentary  costumes of black flowing, wispy gowns, open at the neck line which plunged  nearly to their navels. Each of the men and each of the women seemed to be in  their prime and all were handsome and lovely.
One woman, her straight  black hair down below her shoulders, stepped forward. "Victoria. We spoke on the  phone," she said, holding out her hand.
Brent took the offered hand.  "Charmed," he said. Brent just stared at her.  Her face was absolutely lovely.  When he said 'charmed,' he truly meant it more than he was ready to admit. In  fact, he was more than charmed. If he had not known better he would have thought  "smitten" would have been a better  description. Victoria moved to his side  holding his hand lightly.
The gathered guests began to chant, "Cape. Cape  Cape."
Roger held up his hand. "Yes. It is time." Turning to Brent he  smiled.
Victoria reached over and took Brent's cape by the collar and let  the folded garment fall open to the floor. Then moving behind him, she placed it  over his shoulders and fastened the tie at his throat.
The guests began  to applaud and talk among themselves, their voices, low and whispered,
Brent looked around confused. "Okay. I'm wearing the cape. So  what?" he thought. He turned his head toward Victoria. She face was upturned toward  his.
Something happened. Without knowing, he bent down and kissed  her on the lips. "God. What am I doing?" he wondered. To his surprise,  Victoria's arms moved around his neck. She pressed her body to him. The two  melted together  for what seemed like an eternity.
When they finally  parted, the other guests were laughing and applauding. Brent thought he should  feel embarrassed, but to his surprise, he only felt a strange hunger for Victoria. Sweet Victoria. Something about her was pulling him in, making him  want her. It was more than just want her. It was a raging hunger that dominated  his very being.
Victoria took his arm and gently guided him back to the  hallway. By then Brent was unaware of his surroundings. All he could see, think  about was Victoria. He could still taste her on his lips. He could still feel  her body pressed against his.
The couple came to a great curving  stairway. Victoria lead him up, slowly, step by step, always holding his arm.  Brent was acutely aware of everything  around him as if seen from a dream world.  Life had taken on the quality of a movie watch in a darkened theater.  Intellectually he knew he was the actor in the leading role, but seemed to see  everything from a point of view outside of himself. He watched the couple climb  the stairs. He watched as they stopped at a landing and kissed frantically. He  felt her as the actor's hands first caressed her breasts then crushed him with  wanting.
In Brent's perception, the scene seemed to change. The couple  were in a room dominated by a large, old canopy bed. Brent held Victoria in his  arms. His lips pressed to hers while their tongues played a game of exploration.  His hands grasped for her breasts. He could feel her hard nipples pressed  against his palms and her thigh pressed between his legs rubbing against his  swelling cock.

Next the feeling of hands pushing him backwards onto the  big, old bed. The ancient bed seemed to engulf him as he sunk into the old goose  down mattress. For just a moment Brent thought he could smell something old,  musty. But then it was gone and his mind was engulfed in Victoria's body next to  him.

"Love me, Brent Long. Love me forever," Brent heard Victoria  whispering in his ear.
Brent's hand went to the cape's tie at his throat.  "No. Leave the cape alone, my love," Victoria said out loud with earnest. "You  will ruin everything."
Brent stared into Victoria's face. Clearly there  was urgency in her eyes. Those eyes. As Brent stared to became lost in those  eyes. He had a sense of drowning in the deep dark pools of those eyes. He was  aware of nothing else. Nothing mattered to him but those eyes. He did not even  realize that except for the cape he was lying there nude with  Victoria
.
Then there was the sensation of a deep burning in his genitals.  A feeling of  hardness and throbbing. He opened his eyes to see Victoria, nude as  he was, positioning herself over him. His eyes centered on her perfect breasts  as her hand grasped his penis and guided it inside her.

A sudden coldness  froze Brent. A coldness so intense he could not move. A coldness that could only  be described as death. He could see Victoria's face is a hellish grin as she  bounced up and down in the throes of sex. All the while she repeated over and  over almost in a shriek, "Love me Brent. Love me tonight. Love me  forever."

Finally came that moment when Victoria's entire body stiffened  as her orgasm overtook her. Her mouth opened in a banshee scream as her vagina  clamped hard around Brent's member, once, twice three times. Brent lost  count.
Victoria stopped and looked down into Brent's face. "Now, my love.  Now is the time." Victoria bent down still impaled on Brent's manhood. Her lips  caressed Brent's neck. Her mouth opened and her fangs plunged deep into the artery in his neck.
Brent was frozen, motionless as Victoria sucked the  life out of him. His mind was filled with both the love he felt for this woman  and his own immanent, cold death. He knew he was bound to her forever now. His  life was hers for the taking.
Just as Victoria raised her head, blood  dripping from the corners of her mouth. Brent's own orgasm loosed a gush of his  seed deep into her. Again  and again he gushed. This was his last remembrance of  the evening.

Much later, Brent awoke to find himself alone with Victoria  in the same ancient bed. Even though the drapes were drawn he could tell it was  morning and the sunlight was trying to stream in around the blocked  windows.
"Oh, God. What time is it. I'll be late for work," he told  himself.
Victoria stirred and reached out an arm to encircle his  shoulders. "No, my love. From now on you will only work at night," she  smiled.
Brent eased back down on the old bed and thought to himself,  "Yes. I will work tonight."

Even then, Brent could feel the pangs of  hunger beginning to grow within  him. From now on he knew his work would be  different. He knew that together Brent and Victoria will go hunting to satisfy  this new hunger after the sun went down tonight and every night from now  on.