Vampire Garlics

Count Clovula arrived in a dramatic flourish—well, more of a dramatic tumble—rolling out of his adoption box wrapped in black felt scraps that he insisted were “ancestral capes.” His tiny fangs gleamed, his eyebrows arched like storm clouds, and he immediately demanded to know if anyone had a fainting couch. He was adopted by Helena, a night owl who figured a Vampire Garlic would be good company during 2 a.m. snack raids. Clovula approved, declaring, “Your insomnia shall be my stage!” He now insists on narrating late-night toast sessions with monologues like, “Behold, the bread of destiny, rising to meet its doom!” Clovula takes long naps in a repurposed shoebox lined with red tissue paper, which he insists is “satin from Transylvania.” He emerges at dusk to glare at the blender and to hiss dramatically at the fridge light, calling it “the false sun.” His greatest joy is attempting “hypnotic stares” at other companions. The Rotten Tomatoes boo him, the Hot Peppers pick fights, and the Sour Grapes just sigh. Still, Clovula believes he is feared. Helena doesn’t have the heart to tell him otherwise. Once, during a dinner party, he insisted on a formal introduction before dessert. Helena held him aloft like Simba and announced, “Count Clovula!” He flopped backward in delight, hissing softly, then spent the rest of the evening pretending to faint whenever someone mentioned garlic bread.