Watching the vamp gang slaughter another teenage runaway, Grandpa only shook his head.
“One thing about living in Santa Carla I never could stomach; all the damn vampires,” said Grandpa.
Edgar didn’t mind. They kept a shop near the train station, where they sold crosses and stakes. Even garlic t-shirts had briefly been a popular item. Garlic didn’t work on the local vampires, of course, but the tourists didn’t need to know.
Grandpa’s triangular, shark-like teeth tore flesh from the tourist’s leg. A perfect medium rare, and heavily slathered with Toum—a Lebanese garlic sauce—in the traditional Ghoul way.
100 words. Inspired by this week’s Friday Fictioneers prompt:
ParkInkSpot 