The fatal desires of Vim Vievel, Wampire

Illustration by Casper Pierce

Clouds covered Lewis & Clark campus as daylight left hastily. Students walked home, looking quite tasty. A chill, as thick as a textbook, hung in the air. But tarry not: there is not a NyQuill pill to spare. 

Yet a more restless menace plagues our fair grounds. Come here, gather quick: an ancient evil hounds. 

Stroll quickly, young first years, and think twice in the dark. Hark: where light does not reach, our evil does leech. He uses not claws, only his fingers, and never around him a garlic scent lingers. With an outstretched arm and smile to match, he will cover his victims in cloaks of orange and black. 

A house on the hill, with a circle in front, is the home of the Wampire, to put it so blunt. He creeps, he crawls, he scales red-brick walls. However, at day he strolls through dropped leaves of fall. Vim Vievel, as he is lovingly known, has made Lewis & Clark his ill-fated home. 

When his body count mounted to terrible numbers, he knew people, soon, would discover his plunders. Though he loved the city-lined streets of Portland State U, the lack of fresh meat forced the Wampire to bid it adieu. But Wampire Vievel made his next choice with prudence. He needed a school with unwary students: a place where it is difficult for the public eye to spy, a quiet, small school where the students are quite shy. 

What would be better than a school packed with introverts? Who knew low event attendance could have filling perks. Not a soul would discover his illicit, immortal evil. At worst his name might be compared to that of a weasel. With intentions well hidden and office hours forbidden, the Wampire’s hand staked claim to his home well-hidden. 

You might see him outside, under the sun, but do not fear now, you don’t need to run. However, if cornered on campus, it is hard not to groan. For in daylight his small talk makes six feet under your home. His ghoulish smile will tell stories of past-due payments and death, but worse is the scent that floats from his mouth: of coffee, of metal… his blood-smelling breath.

Now with days colder, and light lasting less, All Hallows Eve’s approach brings only unrest. The Wampire waits for lone walkers at night. You won’t hear him coming you’ll just feel his bite.  

Beware, poor student, the invitation to his study! He wishes not to be your buddy! If delivered at night, you will not be given praise. If ye enter, he might end your days. 

Worse than a hickey, your neck will concave. As Vim Vievel the Wampire silently raves, a puddle of your blood will form on the floor. There is no escape! Your screams are not heard through the door. 

So beware Frank Manor House where this sick monster stays, so that you might live to rich and better days. Take caution when walking alone after six, or you will soon be in a terrible fix. From off-page distance I give hellish choir: “Beware Vim Vievel, the thirsty Wampire!”

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