Folklore of the Night

       “I can’t quite make that claim with my greatest success,” announced the old man.   “But it certainly required more finesse than classic spell craft.   In fact, I would regard it as downright unconventional.      “This was when I was living in Wales, some forty years ago.   The son of the local nobleman had returned from America for his brother’s funeral.   This Master Larry had spent the last seven years earning his Non-Degree from Columbia University in New York.        “I didn’t know him before he left, but let me tell you, the man who returned was one self-centered, self-indulgent low-life.   Oh, during the day time he wasn’t so bad, but while at University he had passed his Nightlife 101 class with honors and had then specialized in advanced courses within that department.   Well, let’s just say that the previous seven years had been little more than a blur for him.”      “Sounds like my brother-in-law!” interjected the Heckler.      “So, our Master Larry returned to

       “Effective,” nodded a tall, gaunt woman.   " Mine was rather trickier still.   And my solution was quite sublime.”   The little bent man faded back into the Mob, knowing his moment was over.      “I was living in Romania at the time.   I was just a girl really.”   The traveler sized her up, unable to determine an age.   Her black hair curtained down to her knees.   The hollows of her face suggested age but hinted at something else.      “There were just the three of us, myself and two other women, working for the Count.   I myself served as a maid, but I spent most of my time trying to keep that wretched castle warm, in fact, warm would be a generous word.   The castle was high in the Transylvanian Alps.   It was always cold and damp, even in what was supposed to be the Summer.        “The other two girls cooked and helped me with the cleaning.   But our biggest effort was to clean up after the Master, get him to bed after one of his binges, and to stay out of strik

       “Fritz, tell them yours,” encouraged the old man.  He leaned towards the traveler, “This is a good one.  Go on, Fritzy, tell them!”       A little bent man stood up.   He made a feeble effort to straighten his spine, which added little to his overall stature.     “You had it easy,” he wheezed to the toothless woman.  “My Master, he was absolutely pathetic, let me tell you.”  His little bulgy eyes turned towards the cobwebs that adorned the dim corners of the ceiling as if in search of his memories.  “Yes, my Master, he was a good doctor, ‘cept he preferred to use his healing talents on the dead.”  The little bent man hissed out something of a laugh.       “He hired me to assist him at his laboratory, which he had installed in a ruined tower at the top of the mountain.  Insane!  The little man’s narrative picked up enthusiasm and speed.  “It was such a distance from the graveyard.  We could have set up much closer; we could have made it work anywhere, but No.  He insisted on the