Mmmmmm. Marie licked her lips. Type O, her favorite. She glanced down at her victim. He was weak. After one little puncture of a few measly arteries, he died. She sat down, reflecting on what had happened.

  It had been a crisp, clear morning that February. Her boy friend had given her a book on the dark arts for Valentine's Day. She didn't know why, but just for fun, she decided to memorize the so-called evil chants. What she didn't know, was that a few of those chants still could perform their evil even after hundreds of years.

  Even after seven months, she could still recall the chant. For once she had learned of its mystic powers, she'd burned the book.
  "Umadeliashendrauds," she'd chanted solemnly, "videxbumberrashendenaiomtust!"
  At that moment, she'd felt an evil presence envelop her soul. Then, she had a craving... A craving, for blood.

  Ever since that fateful day, at the stroke of midnight each night, she became a vampire, feasting on the blood of others. She'd feast through the night until the first glimpse of the sun passed over the western mountains. At that time, her cravings for blood would subside.

  She now departed from her victim's home. She'd only found three victims that night. Just then, a voice called out to her. It seemed to come from all directions.
  "Marrrrrrrie," it murmured evilly, "tonight, tonight, dear Marie, you must feast upon the rarest blood: blood type BO+ You must feast upon the human who holds this blood designation. You will attack, tonight!!! Huheeheehaaaaahaaaaa!!"
  "Why?" she asked.
  "If you feast upon the blood," it mumbled, "your fangs will disappear like doughnuts at the Browder household."
  A name immediately came to her. She knew who possessed such blood. Her joy quickly turned to disappointment. The person that she'd have to kill, was Phillip Ruffu.

  As Phillip lounged in an easy chair, he reflected on a question that Marie had asked him earlier. She'd asked him his blood type. Why that was relevant to their conversation about the proceeding Thursday, he didn't know. He flipped the TV, not literally, to HFPC, the Horror Flicks with Pretty Chicks network. His girl friend had forbidden him to watch that channel, but what she didn't know wouldn't hurt him. He heard the oven "ding," signifying that his pizza was ready. He nibbled on a slice as the five-hour movie Zambian Zombies began.

  She peered through the window. Phillip lay asleep on the couch, eight empty pizza boxes stacked nearby. She pulled out the house key that Phillip had given her several months earlier and slipped inside. Phillip didn't hear her as she came in, the hunger for his blood clouding her mind.

  Silently, she knelt beside him, fully aware of what she was about to do. Marie slowly raised Phillip's head to give her an easier kill. She plunged her teeth into him, the bitter taste of BO+ filling her mouth. After a few seconds, the blood suddenly stopped. She felt around in her mouth with her stained tongue. Her fangs were gone, as was the craving for her boy friend's blood. She checked for a pulse. He was alive. Quickly, she bandaged his neck with a handkerchief and left, leaving Phillip, who didn't, nor never would, know of the great deed he'd just performed.