Memoirs of a Vampire:
Tidings of Comfort and Joy

     “‘Tidings of comfort and joy.’ Such an unhelpful sentiment.” 

     I scribbled the words across the parchment. 

     “Greetings aren’t inherently comforting, and joy is rarely found outside of childhood.”

     “What morose ponderings, my friend. Especially for this time of year. Please tell me you’re not composing our Christmas cards.”

     I glared at Victor and suppressed a growl. I hated when he read over my shoulder. Granted he stood across the room on the upper balcony of the library, not directly behind my chair, but with vampiric vision, the principal remained. With deliberate motions, I set aside my quill, organized my pages, and folded my hands on top of today’s completed musings. “As you wish. ‘You’re not composing our Christmas cards.’”

     A crooked smile lit Victor’s face. “Touché. What are you actually doing?”

     “Don’t believe I could write a Christmas greeting?”

     Victor sauntered down the spiral staircase, his tone patient. “A Christmas card isn’t your typical correspondence, Jean-Luc. Did they send Christmas cards in the Stone Age?”

     I glowered his direction. “I’m not that old. I’ve corresponded with Andersen, Poe, Dumas, Austen, even Shakespeare.” I couldn’t resist dropping the occasional hint, just to taunt him. “I believe I can manage a cohesive holiday greeting.”

     Victor tilted his head and folded his arms. “Care to wager on that?”

     I motioned for him to continue.

     “We divide the Christmas card list between us. The one who receives the most replies from those cards chooses how we spend New Year’s. The other must volunteer to play Santa at the Charity Gala in two weeks.”

     I pursed my lips. Victor enjoyed engaging in society. If he won, he’d plan an elaborate New Year’s celebration and ensure I sat through every screaming child at the Gala. If I won…

     “Agreed.” I stood and offered him my hand. We shook, and Victor sped from the room. Before I could settle back into my chair, he’d returned, list in hand. He made a show of ripping it and passed me one of the halves.

     “Best of luck, dear chap. You’ll need it!” He ambled away.

     I skimmed the list. The Thomsons, the Honeycombs, the Stines, the Fitzgeralds. Were all these people still alive? We hadn’t spoken to most of them in decades. A vampire’s lack of apparent aging made maintaining long-term relationships…difficult. Should one correspond with subsequent generations after the initial acquaintance passed?

     I’d send a card anyway. Better safe than sorry. Besides, everyone enjoyed receiving post. I pulled out fresh paper and picked up my quill.

     “Dear Sirs.”

     No.

     “Felicitations and greetings.”

     No.

     “Salutations and season’s blessings.”

     Perhaps a generic opening was best.

     “As part of a new tradition, I’m writing to wish you happiness.” 

     I scratched out the sentence. What did Christmas cards usually include? I glanced at the computation contraption Victor favored for researching information. But how to work the machine… 

     I grabbed the instrument and sped down to the kitchen, where our housekeeper’s eleven-year-old daughter was typically ensconced. Matilda? Marigold? Her name began with an M, I was sure.

     Verifying my fangs were fully retracted, I entered the room. The child sat at the table, frowning at the piles of papers and books spread before her.

     “Miss…”

     “Mariah,” she supplied without looking up. “Hi, Mr. Beaufoy.”

     “Might I render assistance?”

     “Know anything about Napoleon? Short guy who fought a lot.”

     I grinned. I’d once met Napoleon while in service to the British Admiralty. “Indeed.”

     She sat up. “Really? I’ve a presentation to give before Christmas break, and it’s really boring.”

     I moved to stand across from her and lowered my voice. “Perhaps we might reach an accord. I, too, require assistance with a project. I need to research how to compose a Christmas card and receive replies to the correspondence.”

     Mariah’s face lit up. “We send one every year. But people don’t usually reply to Christmas cards. You send ’em to show you’re still alive.” 

     Perhaps Victor and I needed to shorten the recipient lists.

     She folded her arms. “What do I get for helping you?”

     “I’ll tell you what to put in your report.”

     “And?” She raised one eyebrow.

     “I’ll let you borrow my 18th-century saber for show-and-tell with your presentation.”

     “Deal.” She grinned, then reached for the computation machine and brought it to full readiness. “Most people send a picture card with ‘Merry Christmas’ or ‘Happy Holidays’ on it,” she explained, tapping the keys. She flicked her finger and endless examples scrolled across the screen.

     I frowned. Pictures were tricky. Modern technologies could capture our image, but our eyes glowed bright red, and redeye reduction never worked.

     “Or write a letter sharing what you did.”

     Definitely not. I was a vampire. I needed people to reply, not to run for the hills if I wanted to win the wager. “What would encourage you to reply?” I asked.

     She shrugged. “Depends on what’s in it for me.”

     “How altruistic of you. I thought this was the season of joy and giving.”

     “Receiving stuff brings me great joy.” She flashed a smile and motioned to her studies. “And I’m comforted by the knowledge of your continued generosity.”

     I grabbed her report and scribbled a few notes. “Include these facts in your report, and I’ll be surprised if you receive low marks.”

     “Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Beaufoy.”

     “Miss Mariah.” I took her hand and bowed over it, then I returned to the library. 

     Settling back at my desk, my earlier musings caught my eye. “Tidings of comfort and joy.”

     “Sending you tidings of comfort and joy.” I penned the words neatly across the page of my Christmas card. “Please reply posthaste to be included on next year’s Christmas card list.” A smile stretched across my face. I pulled a crisp bill from my wallet and tucked it inside the card. ’Twas the season of giving, after all.

     A few hours later, I dripped wax on the last envelope and pressed it closed. I hoped Victor was practicing his Santa Claus imitation. He was going to need it.