Writetober 2025, Coven of the Quill, Day 5: The Un-Terrifying Terror

On a Tuesday night that smelled like pizza and poor life choices, a group of college students—Liam, Maya, and Charlie—gathered around a crudely drawn chalk pentagram in the center of their shared dorm's oak floors.

“Okay, this is the last step,” Liam whispered, his voice trembling as he held up a small, crystal decanter. “The ritual calls for a ‘living sacrifice of blood.’ This is the vintage pinot noir we swiped from the dining hall. It’s… close enough.”

Maya, who was wearing a vaguely grime-stained apron, frowned. “The spell said ‘Dark Lord’ and ‘eternal torment.’ We need to get this semester’s term paper extended. Let’s not overdo it.”

Charlie, leaning against a tower of empty ramen containers, just shrugged. “If we summon a demon, maybe it’ll just major in Business and do the work for us.”

Liam poured the red wine onto the pentagram’s central star. There was a faint pop, and a whirlwind of glittery, black smoke coalesced above the spilled wine.

When the smoke cleared, perched atop the wine bottle, appeared the vampire.

He was no bigger than a squirrel but impeccably dressed in a tiny, bottle-green smoking jacket and leather boots. His hair was slicked back, his expression was one of overwhelming disdain, and he carried a miniature, monogrammed leather satchel.

The three students stared.

The vampire took one look at the pentagram, the dorm room, and the horrified faces before letting out a sound somewhere between a hiss and a groan.

“Honestly, the audacity,” the creature stated, his voice a sharp baritone. He fluttered down onto Liam’s shoulder and tapped the student’s ear sharply with a tiny, silver-tipped cane. “You yank me from a restful century of slumber for this?”

“W-we’re sorry, your—your Darkness?” stammered Liam.

“Darkness? Hardly. I am Count Santiago Sullivan Van Edmund, XIII,” the vampire announced, then pointed the cane at the single twin bed crammed into the corner. “And what precisely is that abomination?”

“That’s… Charlie's bed?” Maya offered.

The Count’s eye twitched. “The linens! Tell me you do not propose I spend the required three nights in residence on poly-blend percale! I was promised a crypt of infinite comfort! Do you know what an 80-thread-count sheet does to a classic funerary cape? It pills! I require at least a 900-count, organic Pima cotton, ironed, and scented with Sicilian lavender!”

Charlie looked at the bed. “I think the thread count on those is actually negative.”

The Count turned his attention to the spilled wine. “And the offering. Is this my sustenance?” He sniffed the pinot noir. He made a face so repulsive it was almost terrifying. “This is the equivalent of a plague rat! Where is the blood? I asked for O-Negative! And not just any O-negative! I need a verified, single-source donor whose diet contains no sugar, no processed carbohydrates, and a minimum of six servings of vegetables daily. I am on a cleanse! Do you know how difficult it is to maintain eternal youth on a low-quality diet?”

He flew across the room to Liam’s backpack, rifled through it, and produced a crumpled copy of Liam’s syllabus. He peered at it through a pair of tiny opera glasses.

“‘Fundamentals of Microeconomics’?” the Count scoffed. “I don’t have time to terrify a generation! I have to find a specialty farmer! And I certainly will not be resting until I have proper rest and nourishment! Until then, the only torment you shall receive is my incessant criticism of your interior decorating and your woeful life choices!”

The Count flew onto the highest shelf of books, tucked his satchel under his arm, and began polishing his little opera glasses, pointedly ignoring the students.

Liam looked at Maya, who looked at Charlie.

“Well,” Maya sighed, picking up the mop. “At least he’s not actually killing us.”

“No,” Charlie muttered, “but now we have to go to Bed Bath & Beyond, and I hate that place. And maybe a co-op for veggies?”

Liam rubbed his ear where the cane had struck him. He looked up at the fussy vampire, who was now audibly tutting at the way Liam arranged his books.

“I bet he’d be really good at editing our papers, though,” Liam said. “He seems to care a lot about detail.”

Maya grabbed the mop from Liam. “Don’t even think about it. He’ll give us an F on the font choice alone.”