Malcolm the Demon

By Damien Joseph

Do you think your life is complicated? Probably not as complicated as Malcolm Black, he's not a vampire, but attends vampire meetings, he makes minimum wage, is in love with a vampire, and is always hungry. Oh did I forget to mention, Malcolm, he enjoys eating vampires.

During the day he works at the local grocery store which he hates. At night he's a member of a vampire club filled with vampires, but Malcolm's not a vampire. Oddly enough he's also in love with Ursula, a vampire that he's known for five years, but he doesn't know if she likes him.

Malcolm's world turns into chaos when he eats the leader of the vampire club, Maxfield, which causes all the members to panic.

Malcolm must control his hunger while trying to avoid being caught by the other vampires, while trying to figure out how to tell Ursula how he feels.

An Urban fantasy with a new take on vampires

• Language: English
• Publisher: Damien Joseph
• Release date: Jul 16, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005196912

Damien Joseph

Here's my biography it's not the prettiest, so bare with me on that. I'm an okay artist. I post artwork on my Instagram quite often. https://www.instagram.com/damienjoseph84/I love to write, do art, blog (journal), and occasionally mess with the camera.I've published 2 novels and one comic. I am currently working on a sequel to Alone at the Very End of the World and finishing up book one of the graphic novel Surviving Crete.If you like my style, which would be pretty neat, check out my other work.

Book preview

Malcolm, the demon

Damien Joseph

Copyright © 2019 Damien Joseph

All rights reserved.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I’d like to thank my family. They are amazing!

1

There’s nothing on, been flipping through the fucking television for the past hour or two and I’m still stuck on my square ass doing the same damn fucking thing; Nada!  I fucking hate being bored, sitting at home by myself is such a drag. I wish I was somewhere else, someplace a bit more interesting than my living room; or front room, or whatever the fuck people call it. Man, I hate it when, well not really hate it, but I sorta dislike that when you use certain words like living room then people gotta correct you with what they think is the correct word. I used living room, not front room damn it, if I wanted to use front room then I’d use it. Stop correcting me over such simple stupid shit. Bah!

You know what I don’t get, it’s that every fucking channel is now some type of social experiment! It’s reality fucking TV, but it’s not really reality for say, you can say it’s reality but it’s not. I dunno? as I muttered out loud and then closed my eyes for a mere second, then opened them up to a dark yet classy room. My fucking curtains said they are light filtering, but the shit doesn’t let any light in at all. Fuck man, this is what you get when you go to the fucking dollar store and buy a pair of curtains for a few bucks, which really makes no fucking sense. I swear in the 90s you could go to a dollar store and actually buy something for one dollar, now a dollar store is just another name to get some poor dumbass in the store.

I wish my television was bigger, it’s okay, it’s not the fanciest of televisions. The fucking thing reminds me of a damn microwave. What’s even worse is that I have it on an oak nightstand; yeah, it’s small, sturdy, and yet very ugly, but it does the job. I just can’t believe how people were so fucking crazed over this shit back in the 80s and 90s, it’s a pretty fucking ugly. Nowadays everyone is trying to get rid of this monstrosity of a night stand.

Who gives a fuck, right? I dunno? as I once again muttered out loud in the open of my lonely yet tasteful living room.

These damn reality shows are pointless; fucking pointless-repetition. Just the other day I was switching the channel looking for something. I dunno the fucking reason, I said out loud, interrupting my thought process to a mindless answer to a question that never really needed one.

You know what, I was probably bored-looking for any reason not to go and do something stupid. I was just looking for anything to watch and there was this show called Super Bachelor Mega Force. Who the fuck names a television show that and above all, it involves no sort of super powers. Fucking terrible show, it was a waste of whatever brain cells I had left in my head. I could’ve turned it off or switched the channel but every single time that I was going to do it, I got drawn back in. It was like crack, but I’ve never had crack so I really am not sure what the fuck I’m thinking. I assume crack is addictive, people wouldn’t use words like crackhead if crack wasn’t so fucking addictive. Knowing that crack will and most definitely will fuck up your brain. Shit, but whatever, that show was really fucking pointless, but it kept drawing me in. It was fucking terrible!

I mean, it’s terrible, it’s a regret, something that happened but I can’t take back because it happened; the worst part of it was that it burned a place in my freaking brain. I hate when you see something and it’s not something you want to see but you do end up seeing it and it’s pretty fucking stupid, but the shitty part about it is that you always get reminded of it every once in a while. Bah fuck humbag, I said as I took in a deep breath and laid out an utter annoying yawn. Wait, what did I say. Bah Fuck Humbug. That sure as hell did not flow too well off my tongue. I’m must be tired or losing it, it should’ve been Bah Fucking Humbug, but whatever it’s pointless. I said it already, can’t change it or do anything about it. Just gotta fucking take it for what it is and say fuck it.

So, the reality show it had a bunch of big tall shirtless guys with no fucking brain cells.

I dunno if they didn’t have any brain cells left?

But I don’t know if they did, so yeah I can compromise and say they were a bunch of dumb tools.

Okay.

So, yeah, they ended up sleeping with some super hot smoking blonde; how’s that fair?

End, not ended.

So, okay, fuck, it sucks, it just sucks! That’s what it comes down to these days. I mean, fuck, I haven’t slept with anyone in months and that lay was fucking terrible. I was out of it, probably fucking high off my ass, but damn I just don’t know what I was thinking. She was a gremlin, literally a fucking goblin. Fur and all, every-fucking-where on her body It wasn’t just like she had a patch on her cheeks or her arms, nope, she was a fucking ogre. Not to mention I was literally a million feet taller than her! I mean-shit, it was weird as fuck, when I tried to kiss her I had to hunch down and bend over and I fucking hate bending over. Why the fuck do I have to bend over, why couldn’t she like fucking climb on a chair or a ladder or some shit; really anything! It’s not like I have a fetish of some sort for hairy short things.

It wasn’t called Mega Force.

Dammit! Maybe I fibbed a bit, but Super Bachelor sounds lame compared to Super Bachelor Mega Force. I mean, really the show sucked, at least this way if I saw it and watched it I could have felt some sort of fulfillness with what I just watched by reminding myself that I had just encountered SBMF. See even shortening the name sounds cool! I could tell all my friends I seen SBMF and say it sucked and they’d put me on this throne, high up like I’m some sort of God, which I kinda am, but I’m not gonna tell them that. Wait, what, no, none of that made any sense at all, I muttered out while flipping the cable remote control.

You know I’ve been flipping through the fucking television for about close to a bazillion hours and my fingers are getting tired. Fuck, this channel has a reality show, that channel has a reality show, fucking every channel is some sort of fucking reality television show.

Yeah, I know.

That’s all there is on TV these days, reality shows, whatever the fuck happened to sitcoms? Doesn’t anyone write anymore? I know it’s easy to just point a camera in front of a few dimwits, but come on people. Does everyone have to do it? It’s really on every fucking channel and it’s fucking annoying. Just every network is taking the easy route. Fuck, I wish I could take the easy route. I wish could take a shit anywhere I want, I wish I could walk out in public and not be looked at. I wish everything was fucking easy for me. It would be nice to walk down the street without having the whole fucking village stare at me like I’m some sort of fucking FLYING UNICORN; I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with unicorns, their okay and all.

Ring, the telephone rings as my finger anxiously taps the up arrow on the cable remote control trying to avoid answering the phone. I hate phone calls, I just fucking hate them. What I hate more than phone calls is having to say the words cable remote control, instead why can’t I just say TV remote or even remote control. Why do I have to add that extra word describing what type of remote control I am using. It’s a fucking waste of time, it’s not like I’m talking to a bunch of people I’ve never met before. I’m not even talking to anyone, no one, not one person is here.

You know what it is, it’s that I’m fucking brainwashed. Yeah, just think about it, we’ve been saying cable remote control since we were young, and everyone has been saying it, the TV people, the radio folks, and even those crumby newspaper milk guys. I’ve been brainwashed and I don’t even fucking know it.

Didn’t even fucking know it.

Well, that damn phone’s not gonna pick itself up anytime soon. It’s not, if it could I would have gotten that feature, but no it’s a fucking waste of time, no one you know really calls you, and when someone does call you, it’s nothing important. I mean Fuck, why do I even need a telephone, nobody calls me and it’s not like I’m calling anyone anytime soon. Really, if someone needs me, which no one does, they can just send me a text. Why the hell do I even have a landline, it’s fucking pointless to have two telephones. I know it made sense back in the day when the cell phone companies used to charge you an arm and a leg for their plans; not to forget of how much it used to cost when you went over your minutes. Now everyone is giving you fucking UNLIMITED MINUTES! I got this plan where I’m only paying for the data, they gave me free unlimited minutes and texts with about a few data for around thirty bucks. That’s flippen cheap, can’t beat that with a stick. You could go ahead and beat it with a stick, but that’s really not what I’m saying. I could go and beat it with a stick, or could you since it’s not really there. It’s not physical, it’s a plan, it’s not something you can pick up and touch or even ogle at. So yeah, you can’t beat it with a stick.

I need to find something, anything to watch tonight. I can’t afford another night like last night. I had to count sheep; I hate sheep, those furry little bastards are always giving me funny looks. When I see one I just want to bite a hole right into their furry necks. I can’t do that, that’s just so much work. I mean it’s easy and all, but who the fuck wants to sit down all night with a fucking pen and poke out all that fucking fur from between my teeth. Not to forget, the ink gets all over your hands and sometimes on your face; I don’t got time for that shit.

Ring, the telephone rings again. I really have to change that ring tone. I swear listening to my voice say ring is just fucking annoying. It’s pretty damn cool though! I feel like my phone is some sort of fucking high-tech telephone from the future. I mean, it’s my fucking voice saying ring, not that annoying ringing bell sound that is so much the past.

If I don’t find anything on TV in the next five seconds I might as well answer the damn phone then put a bullet in my fucking head from how bored I would be.

Click, click, click, as I swiftly change the channel on the TV remote control. ‘There’s nothing on!" I shouted to an empty room staring at the TV as the channels change quickly.

I continue, Click, click, click. Still nothing on the television.

Click, click, as I change the channels one last time. Nothing! I shouted once more.

The only thing that I saw myself watching was probably a fucking black and white Alfred Hitchcock movie, but I’ve seen all of his fucking movies more than once before and they’ve all become predictable; fucking pre-dic-t-able! The guy with the odd speech impediment is normally the villain or the odd looking fella will be the killer. That sums up pretty much every Hitchcock film. Always having the oddball become the villain, while the pretty boys are always the hero. It’s that same type of bullshit that separates people in society. Fuck, you go to a fucking restaurant and you order a tray of sushi, you look over to your right there’s a bunch good looking dudes with some hot chicks and then you look to your left and you see a of bunch ugly folks sitting by themselves. I guess it makes sense in a way, but damn it sucks.

Ring, the phone rings again. I might as well answer the damn phone. It just keeps ringing and ringing and ringing and it’ll just keep on ringing. Why the fuck can’t people just give up already, the phone’s been ringing for like a thousand or so minutes and man get the fucking hint, I’m too damn lazy to pick it up. Fuck it, I’m just answering the phone, it’ll give me a peace of mind knowing that I’m not that lazy.

Hi, can I speak to Malcolm Black? said the man on the phone.  He has a raspy voice. I have never encountered anyone with a raspy voice before. All the people I have ever met sound alike, unless I make everyone sound alike? Do I make everyone sound alike? His voice is sweet, yet creepy. He sounds like flowers, poisonous flowers, like poison ivy but I don’t think poison ivy is a flower. Wait, what the fuck is a raspy voice? That has to be something right? It could be something, I could be a millionaire, if only I could exploited that man’s voice. Send me your money ladies, send me those checks and I’ll provide the raspy-sexy for your pleasure. Brilliant, just fucking brilliant!

Hello? asked the raspy man.

This is him, and I’m not interested in buying any of your damn second hand junk, I don’t even care if it is a flying saucer that can make waffles all night long.  I don’t want it!, I replied. Well I might want it.

I seen in a movie that this one big guy, he was huge, like fucking wide-ass shoulders and big and tall man pants huge. Yeah, well he was aggressive on the phone and the other guy on the other line was willing to do everything the big guy said and asked for on the phone. It was a pretty cool movie, the big guy got a fucking helicopter, and he had these bags full of money. It was fucking full, like million or so dollars in it. So inspiring, damn it would be pretty nice to have a million dollars.

Hello? asked the raspy man.

I don’t know anything about this guy; he could have the attention span of a bitch in heat.  What if he only listened for two seconds and then went on some damn day dream about flying monkeys eating giant bananas.

Mr. Black are you there? asked the raspy man again.

What if those bananas weren’t green but red. Bananas aren’t fucking green? I think they are, it’s that stage they get to before it’s suitable to eat. What the fuck is the name of that stage, ah, now it’s going to fucking get stuck in my head until I figure it out. Shit!

I’m sorry Mr. Black but I’m not here to sell you anything.  I can assure you that you will not be asked for any type of financial information, said the raspy man.

I then shouted, Ripe.

Ripe? replied the raspy man.

Oh sorry, it’s nothing, you can continue, I said rather calmly.

All that I am here to do is to notify you that you have just won a cruise aboard the most coveted cruise ship of all time; the Vulcan. The Vulcan is one of a kind, it’s state-of-the-art, top-of-the-line, the-best-of-the-best, it’s a true work of what great minds can create when they work together. We want you to experience this amazing experience, but first, before you get your ticket you have to answer a short survey, said the raspy man.  Is it strange that he used the word notify more than once, is he trying to persuade me? I’m too damn crazy, it’s nothing. Damn it, I knew this would happen, I’m always paranoid when I drink. I’m looking too much into his words, too many words, words with too many syllables or antonyms. It’s one of those two, or none. Or maybe both, it could be both, it would be insane if it was both, it’d be wild; like going to the gas station and buying a fountain drink and mixing all the flavors together except for the Diet flavors.

Okay?

Okay.

What if I don’t want to answer your damn survey?

I’m sorry Mr. Black it is required for you to answer our survey before you receive your ticket.

Okay?

okay.

How many questions is this short survey that I have to answer?

I can assure you it’s short.

How many questions? Don’t tiptoe around my damn question, I said in a rather aggressive tone.

There are approximately thirty-five questions, said the man with the raspy voice. What the fuck did he just say, thirty-five questions. That’s like thirty-five questions. When the hell do I have time to answer that many questions. If every question is about ten to twenty seconds for him to read out and I’m listening to him on the phone and I can’t hear the question is normally the case then that’s about thirty to forty seconds per question and the amount of time it’ll take to answer them is going to be insane. I can’t do a survey for that long!

I replied, Okay, let’s get started. What the hell am I saying. Fucking Alcohol makes me say things. I hate saying things. Damn it. Now I have to listen to him serenade me for thirty-five questions.

Before we get started I need to verify your identity. To verify your identity I need you to verify your Visa Credit Card information. Yeah, like I’m that stupid, there’s no way I’m going to give this raspy man my credit card information. I’m no schmuck. I don’t have antlers on my head. I’m no damn schmuck.

I hung up the phone.

What to do now? I guess it’s back to flipping through the TV once again and maybe, just maybe watching an Alfred Hitchcock movie and know