1. Chapter 1

Spike glared resentfully across the road at the pub in the small Irish village which seemed to be the only occupied building in the whole soddin' place. But then, given that Ballybumbum-whatever consisted solely of the tavern and a half-dozen other houses, it was no surprise that tonight, everyone of all ages, gender, and occupation in the blink-and-you'll-miss-it place was crowded inside the thatched inn, drinking and talking and drinking and singing and drinking, and otherwise having a perfectly wonderful time.

Unlike a poor, hungry vampire who was thoroughly regretting the necessity of visiting Ireland around the time of what was later spoken as 'before the Great War.' Well, his reasons for having to hastily leave his last location to come here were bleedin' private, thank you very much, but it might've actually been worth being staked in London, considering how empty his stomach was right this minute!

The demon in a young human's deceased body cautiously leaned forward, only to flinch backwards at once when his skin started to smolder again. Bloody hell, whoever put up the protective magical wards around this place had really known what they were doing. Worse of all, they covered the entire tiny village, so he couldn't even hang around until closing time and devour some thoroughly sloshed wanker staggering towards their home. Giving one last evil glower at the supernaturally-safeguarded pub, Spike slouched down the road, on his way to the next village miles further on, where hopefully there'd be someone to eat.

"QUACK! QUACK! QUACK!"

Not expecting at all the loud noise coming from right under his boots, an alarmed Spike jumped straight up into the air a good yard or so, coming back down to land flat-footedly on the graveled road leading away from the pub. The vampire goggled at the little duck which was presently blocking his path, with this small aquatic bird giving the undead human that had almost trampled it a beady, suspicious glower over its yellow bill.

Spike now returning this mistrustful expression with his own sudden smile of pure malevolence, making this wary duck begin sidling away backwards on its webbed feet. In the very next instant, a monster's abrupt rush caused this avian's panicky calling for its protector, all to no avail: "QUACK! QUA- SQUAWWWK!"

Afterwards, Spike was feeling a great deal better for getting the chance to at last kill something. As he continued to happily stroll down the road, the vampire didn't even mind having to use his right thumbnail as a toothpick to remove all the duck feathers which had become caught between his fangs.

Sometime later, a red-haired woman in her mid-forties came out of the pub, standing on the threshold to carefully look around in the bright moonlight at the area in the front of the building. She really hadn't been sure, but this woman thought the centuries-old wards around this tavern might've sent her a warning several minutes ago. Unfortunately, despite being descended from generations of Irish witches, Nuala O'Farrell just didn't have all that much magical power, which she'd resignedly accepted years before. Her innate talents seemed to have gone instead into music, with Nuala being one of County Longford's most gifted singers. This thankfully got people from all over to visit her remote pub and gladly pay for the privilege of listening in thrall to the old, old songs performed by someone with actual enchantment in her sparkling voice.

Still, Nuala had felt something was wrong outside just before, but she hadn't time for a break until now. Glancing once more around at everything in her vicinity, an object finally caught the woman's eye further down the road. There, pitifully lying dead upon the gravel, was her pet duck! From the looks of things, it'd been murdered about when the wards had gone off!

As an expression of pure fury passed over Nuala's strong face, she made a mighty vow inside her mind upon whatever least bit of magic she possessed that whoever - or whatever - had done this would indeed _pay._ Wheeling around to storm back into the pub, the door slamming shut behind the enraged Irishwoman, a piercing voice easily passed through this panel while it also silenced everybody else in the building.

"All right, me friends, here's a special song for everyone! Ye'll know it, I'm wagerin', but I'm now in the mood for givin' all me heart in it! So, listen, boyos…"

There was a pause for a few moments, and then a superb vocalist unknowingly capable of calling up the unearthly powers by her words alone started to merrily sing:

_Oh me name it is Nell and the truth for to tell_  
_I come from Cootehill which I'll never deny_  
_I had a fine drake and I'd die for his sake_  
_That me grandmother left me and she goin' to die_  
_The dear little fellow his legs they were yellow_  
_He could fly like a swallow or swim like a hake_  
_Till some dirty savage to grease his white cabbage_  
_Most wantonly murdered me beautiful drake_

_Now his neck it was green almost fit to be seen_  
_He was fit for a queen of the highest degree_  
_His body was white, and it would you delight_  
_He was plump, fat, and heavy and brisk as a bee_  
_He was wholesome and sound, he would weigh twenty pound_  
_And the universe round I would roam for his sake_  
_Bad luck to the robber be he drunk or sober_  
_That murdered Nell Flaherty's beautiful drake_

_May his spade never dig, may his sow never pig_  
_May each hair in his wig be well trashed with the flail_  
_May his door never latch, may his roof have no thatch_  
_May his turkeys not hatch, may the rats eat his meal_  
_May every old fairy from Cork to Dun Laoghaire_  
_Dip him snug and airy in river or lake_  
_That the eel and the trout they may dine on the snout_  
_Of the monster that murdered Nell Flaherty's drake_

_May his pig never grunt, may his cat never hunt_  
_May a ghost ever haunt him the dead of the night_  
_May his hens never lay, may his horse never neigh_  
_May his coat fly away like an old paper kite_  
_That the flies and the fleas may the wretch ever tease_  
_May the piercin' March breeze make him shiver and shake_  
_May a lump of the stick raise the bumps fast and quick_  
_On the monster that murdered Nell Flaherty's drake_

_Well the only good news that I have to infuse_  
_Is that old Paddy Hughes and young Anthony Blake_  
_Also Johnny Dwyer and Corney Maguire_  
_They each have a grandson of me darlin' drake_  
_Me treasure has dozens of nephews and cousins_  
_And one I must get or me heart it will break_  
_For to set me mind easy or else I'll run crazy_  
_So ends the whole song of Nell Flaherty's drake_

* * *

Sitting down with his back against the stone breakwater protecting the harbor of Holyhead, a Wales coastal town facing the Irish Sea, the former Colonel Richard Huntingford was contently spending his retirement doing what he preferred most, after dreaming of it during the entire last decade of his Army career from the Boer War on. He was fishing, with nobody to bother him, shooting at him, giving him stupid orders, or expecting him to pass on equally stupid orders. Spending the whole night with a pole, hook, and line dipped into the calm ocean beyond was what he'd prayed for in numerous remote Empire pestholes he'd faithfully defended for Queen (then King) and Country. Frankly, the ex-soldier would've been more than willing to just give those bloody places back to the natives, but now some other poor bugger was getting malaria or sunstroke or even bubonic plague there. _He,_ on the other hand, was wrapped up warm as toast in his fishing kit, pipe drawing nicely, a flask full of brandy at his hip-

The elderly man smugly listing his comforts was abruptly distracted by a loud splashing sound coming from below, where the massive blocks of stone protecting the harbor behind him reared up from out of the black waters. Idly peering down, Huntingford thought it likely he'd see there a seal or perhaps a stranded fish, or-

The startled fisherman didn't expect at all what was really there, an actual bloke climbing up from out of the ocean. Huntingford sat frozen in shock there, not moving a muscle otherwise. Continuing to hold immobile his fishing rod, the older man gawked at somebody having the appearance of surviving not only a shipwreck, but a volcanic eruption combined with a train smash, all at the same time one way or another.

The blond stranger's entire clothing was tattered, slashed, and scorched, and not only that, he bore the tormented expression of someone who'd unwillingly visited Hell itself. Huntingford hadn't seen anyone looking like that ever since he'd been part of the force which relieved Mafeking. Not daring to say anything, the combat veteran simply watched as the newcomer eventually scrambled onto the top of the breakwater and stood there shivering while he totally ignored the nearby witness to this. Instead, the younger man wrapped his arms around himself, and then he started staggering towards the town. All while continually moaning under his breath something which the fishing enthusiast could hear quite well:

"Ireland, Ireland, Ireland…"

Unthinkingly turning his head to gaze straight forwards in the darkness at where that named island was just fifty miles to the west over the waves, Huntingford couldn't see any ship around from which that bloke might've swum from. Glancing again along the breakwater, the fisherman again stared in disbelief, only this time due to the fact now there _wasn't_ anyone around. Instead of the stranger who should've been there a few dozen yards away, nothing but a deserted stretch of breakwater presented itself to the elderly man's attention.

After thinking this over for a few minutes and taking a hurried nip from his flask, Huntingford eventually shrugged, made another cast with his pole, and he did his best to forget the whole bizarre episode. After all, Ireland was reputed to be a bloody eccentric place, so it seemed likely it'd produce equally odd effects upon whoever had the bad luck to visit that bally island.

* * *

Author's Note: _Nell Flaherty's Drake_ is an anonymous Irish ballad from the early 19th century. I couldn't resist using its imaginative curses upon Spike!


	2. A Matter of Honor, Dry Cleaning Style

It was a puzzlement.

The traditions of his new home included a pronouncement of the customer always being right. Which meant these patrons were to be treated with solemn deference, and their provided piece of work to be done as swiftly and skillfully as possible. In return, the exchange of currency for the finished task came next, ensuring a filled stomach, limbs which were decently clad, and the honor of a merchant would be displayed by his pleased clients.

However, judging by all the bloodstains upon his most recent job, the specific customer who owned this same garment was undoubtedly some sort of vicious, unearthly monster who needed to be met in battle and defeated with the utmost dispatch. Such an action would naturally satisfy the honor of his warrior ancestors.

Again, it was a puzzlement. The man in the back room of the small shop, now seated in the lotus position before a stick of lit incense giving off a curl of aromatic smoke from its position inside a stone bowl, had thought long and hard tonight on how these two different aspects of honor could be equally met. At last, the Asian male had come to the conclusion that perhaps a sign from the gods was needed in order to help him decide exactly what to do-

_Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding!_

"OI, THERE!" An extremely impatient voice shouted, perfectly matching the discourteous loud ringing of the service bell on the counter of the New York City dry cleaning establishment. "YOU ASLEEP IN THE BACK? I WANT MY BLEEDIN' JACKET NOW, IN TIP-TOP SHAPE, OR ELSE! HONESTLY, I SHOULD'VE GONE TO THE OTHER PLACE UP THE BLOCK, WITH THE SIGN SAYING MEL'S DOES IT FAST AND RIGHT, NOT LIKE HERE!"

Ah, karma could be such a wonderful thing. His business had just been insulted more than enough for his honor needing to be redeemed, and the best way for this to be accomplished was by chopping off the head of that yellow-hair devil in the front room.

Futaba-san smoothly rose to his feet in their wooden geta sandals, and the kimono-wearing Japanese samurai momentarily caressed the hilt of his razor-sharp katana. Then, a master swordsman went off to slaughter a vampire.

* * *

Standing on the front stoop of their apartment, both of the young men there critically eyed the other in their horribly clashing skintight pants and loud, unbuttoned polyester shirts. Abruptly nodding in shared cheerful approval, this duo now gave each other an enthusiastic high-five. It was time once more for the fair maidens of New York's bar scene to meet the glory which was Georg and Yortuk Festrunk.

Beginning to strut down the front stairs together, this pair of absolute idiots momentarily paused to watch passing by on the sidewalk before themselves a sprinting blonde guy in his shirtsleeves barely keeping ahead of some other pursuing guy dressed in robes, his hair drawn up in a topknot, and waving a really big sword over his head while screaming unintelligible battle cries.

When those weirdos eventually went out of both sight and hearing, Georg looked at his brother, and they both shrugged in sheer bafflement. Yortuk then offered, "Hey, Georg, it could only happen to swingers like us, because we are-"

Georg joyously joined in with his brother their catchphrase, "-TWO WILD AND CRAZY GUYS!"

* * *

Author's Note: The strangest part is that the timeline actually fits. "Samurai Dry Cleaners", as masterfully portrayed by John Belushi, appeared October 29, 1977 on SNL, and Nikki Wood was killed by Spike sometime in 1977.


	3. YeeeeHaaaa!

He was having so much fun tonight that the vampire couldn't make up his mind on whether to stop right now and eat all the coppers who were chasing him, or keep on driving and watch their cars collide with each other in his rear-view mirror. Flashing every single fang in a delighted grin, the demon performed a skidding turn down a dimly-lit side road, with Spike not particularly caring where he was going, just as long as he could keep on enjoying himself in his stolen car.

Back in the pursuing law enforcements vehicles, other people weren't so happy. Sheriff Roscoe Coltrane angrily yelled orders at the top of his lungs into the microphone he was tightly gripping. As he held onto the automobile dashboard with his other hand, the police car's driver also swerved into the road their quarry had just taken. Giving a quick glance over his shoulder, the sheriff noted with satisfaction the headlights behind which showed his men were still faithfully following him in their own vehicles. Turning back to look ahead at the glowing rear red lights a hundred feet further on rushing down the side road, Roscoe had a quick change of mood while realizing something. He whooped with glee at finally getting a chance to catch those infernal Duke relatives now that they weren't driving their usual speedy stock car.

"Yeah, ever'one, we're gonna lay our hands on Luke and Bo this time, yessir! Y'all stay with me, men! Them rascals can't possibly get away now!" And so on, and so on, while the sheriff continued to joyously babble into the car radio.

A few miles away, hidden behind Miz Ellie's Diner, two young men stuffed full of fresh pecan pie were sprawled out on their backs side-by-side atop the General Lee's hood. As the police scanner inside the car continued to broadcast an exultant sheriff's voice, Lucas Duke and Beauregard Duke twisted their necks to look each other in the eye, both having identical confused looks on their handsome features.

Bo was the first to speak in his soft Southern accent, "What do you think, cousin?"

Luke tilted his head back to look straight up into the full moon shining brightly above in the cloudless night sky. After mulling it over for a few more moments, he casually shrugged, feeling the hard metal of the hood rub against his shoulder blades, before answering, "We better check it out. 'Sides, it don't feel right or proper, ol' Roscoe chasin' someone what ain't us."

Rolling off the hood to bounce up onto his shitkicker boots by the car, Bo beamed at his dark-haired relation, cheerfully agreeing, "Yep, kinda like havin' your girl kissin' somebody else."

Getting to his own feet, Luke cocked a sardonic eyebrow at the other Duke there, who'd been enthusiastically chasing after every unattached pretty gal in Hazzard County for the last couple of years, before snorting, "Y'all should know, right?"

Bo merely thumbed his nose at Luke, right before this smirking blonde male made an expert entry feet-first through the driver's side open window, plunking himself down in the seat and reaching with the same smooth movement for the ignition key. A quick twist of this caused the General Lee to start with a powerful roar of its overbuilt engine. Right after Luke had just as quickly gotten into the passenger seat, the orange 1969 Dodge Charger shot forward past the diner, leaving behind only an immense cloud of dust.

Several minutes later, Spike yelled in pure alarm when another car abruptly burst out in front of his own vehicle hurtling down the road. After smashing through the bushes lining the dirt lane, this other vehicle swerved dangerously until it straightened out and matched Spike's speed. Now only a few feet ahead of him, the bright orange car was zooming forwards while staying in the middle of the road like it was on rails.

Savagely cursing, the vampire stomped on the gas pedal to ram into that bloody idiot ahead who was currently spoiling his fun. Unfortunately, in the very next instant, Spike had to hastily lift his foot off the accelerator, as both cars then entered a series of S-bends. Barely staying on the road, an undead Englishman's vehicle skidded from one side of the road to the other, with Spike fighting for control of the wheel lest he humiliatingly crash into the trees and bushes lining the road and turn into a heap of flaming wreckage. To make it even more insulting, the other car was being driven by someone flawlessly taking all the curves in the dark at the highest possible speed, indicating they knew every inch of their home terrain.

Hunched over the steering wheel, Spike grimly concentrated on just how he was soon going to catch up with and then kill those sods in the other car as horribly as he could, using all his expertise that decades of torturing people had given this demon. Which meant the vampire hadn't been paying attention to anything behind himself for the last couple of minutes.

During that time back there, Deputy Enos Strate shouted at his boss in the passenger seat, "Sheriff, the General Lee's in front of the other car! I kin see 'em, easy!"

Roscoe looked totally flabbergasted, as he spluttered, "Well, then who in Sam Hill we been chasin', anyway?"

Speedily taking a curve, Enos winced at the pained screeches from his tires, to then say in absolute exasperation, "Who the blazes cares? Listen, the Dukes know where they're goin', _we _know where they're goin', but the other guy in between, he don't know! How 'bout for once, we just forget the whole thing and go watch what happens next?"

There was silence in the car for a moment, and the road became straight enough for the deputy to risk a quick peek at where the older man was sitting. There, a very wicked grin had appeared on the sheriff's weathered features, as that man now chuckled evilly, "Enos, it don't happen too often, but sometimes you act so sharp you gotta be keerful 'gainst cutting' yourself. Hell, yes, we'll do it!" Grabbing the car radio's microphone again, Roscoe happily yelled into this communications device, "Boys, change of plans! Y'all keep your eyes peeled, and foller Enos when he takes the next turn!"

It ended up with the numerous headlights which had formerly been following Spike soon vanishing. This vampire didn't notice at all, with his awareness totally fixed upon the car ahead, impatiently waiting for the first chance to overtake them. This happened shortly when the road permanently straightened out and then went uphill. Ramming both feet on the gas, Spike felt his ride rapidly accelerate and the distance between the two vehicles quickly shrank. By the time both autos went over the top of the hill almost together, they were going fast enough that these machines actually came off the road for a few seconds, until they dropped back to earth. During this, Spike had the chance to look over the roof of the other car, and the vampire's eyes widened with pure horror at what was there only a few hundred yards ahead.

Previously, there'd been some sort of wooden bridge crossing the fifty-foot wide creek below, but it'd either been washed away or otherwise nearly completely destroyed. The only thing remaining now of this structure were the decaying stumps of both ends on either side of the waterway, with the nearest remnant sloping upwards in a crude ramp before it ended in thin air.

Spike recklessly shoved down on the brakes, desperate to stop before he shot right off the road into the creek. However, the car he'd been chasing didn't slow down at all. Instead, it actually went even faster, aiming itself right at the inclined planks of what had formerly been a bridge. The vampire's mouth dropped open in total shock, as he watched the orange car nimbly launch itself through the air in a graceful arc that covered the entire width of the creek. Successfully landing on the other end of the bridge, the Dodge Charger then slowed down on the dirt road there, to finally slew to a stop in a triumphant dust cloud.

At that exact point, Spike now realized there was no way he could come to a halt before going off the end of the bridge himself. There was clearly only one thing to do, so the vampire hurriedly stomped on the gas to give all the power he could manage to the engine, and in turn he drove straight at the makeshift ramp. Spike hit the incline, felt his car raise into the air- And then he understood the ghastly truth as his ride descended, that it just hadn't been enough.

With an immense splash that sent spray rising a hundred feet straight up, Spike's vehicle dropped right into the middle of the creek.

About a half-mile away on Lookout Point, several lawmen standing on this hilltop in front of their parked cars whooped and guffawed at the tops of their lungs after watching it all in utter glee. Slapping his knee in delight, Sheriff Coltrane bellowed for the entire world to hear, "Dadgummit, it's much funnier seein' someone else do it this time instead of us!"

"You kin say that again, boss!" gasped Deputy Strate. Wiping away a tear of mirth, the police officer continued to gaze at the car resting in the creek, with water halfway up the sides of this automobile. Peering closer, this man then incredulously remarked to the others, "Say, boys, the durn thing's floating away!"

As they all watched, it was indeed true. The flowing creek was pushing along the car and its occupant, who hadn't made any move to escape. Thoughtfully scratching his chin, Roscoe mused, "That feller inside, if he ain't been knocked senseless, he better get outta there quick. The dam's only a couple miles downstream, so whoever was drivin', he don't have but mebbe a half-hour or so 'fore that there car goes over the sluiceway. Well, boys, we might as well as mosey down and watch this, too."

Just after everyone turned to get back into their police cars, Enos eagerly suggested, "Hey, guys, I hear Miz Ellie's done baked a heap of her famous pecan pies. Why don't we stop off there along the way, get a couple with whipped cream on 'em, and eat the pies while we wait at the dam?"

Pausing to look approvingly over the hood of their vehicle, Sheriff Coltrane nodded, "Son, your brain's been workin' right fine tonight. That's exactly what we'll do!"

Back in the drifting car, while sullenly sitting in chest-deep water, Spike's temper would've ordinarily exploded over hearing this casual discussion of the coming fate awaiting him, except his bad mood was already at record levels. There were two reasons for this:

One, a tiny catfish which had swum inside the car was beginning to investigate his groin.

Two, at the other side of the creek where the bridge had been, a pair of hairy male rears were proudly displayed in the silvery light from the nighttime orb on high. After getting out of the General Lee, both Bo and Luke had advanced to the edge of the rickety wooden structure, turned around, dropped their trousers and underwear, and mooned the latest defeated challenger to the Dukes of Hazzard.


	4. A Bad Night In A Desert

Painfully rising to his feet up out of the minor crater in the ground caused by his plummeting body, Spike made a very obscene gesture in the direction of the small plane flying away several hundred feet above in the night sky. The vampire continued to glare after this aircraft until it faded from both sight and hearing into the darkness, finally grumbling out loud, "Just my luck, I had to pick the most paranoid pilot in the whole bleedin' LA area! Anyone else finding me under the blanket in the back seat would've wanted to know why I was there in the first place, instead of promptly throwing that machine around like nobody's business until I went out the door."

As he started brushing off his clothes, Spike continued to moodily complain to his most favorite audience in the world; i.e., a dashing undead English demon. "Here's hoping my luck changes for the better. It couldn't get soddin' worse, not when I got chased out of town by those bloody coppers who didn't even know what I was! The nerve of them, getting all fired up by a murder or two and thinking I was just some kinky killer draining the blood from his victims! Me, I had my suspicions about that stone-faced bloke, who's got to be part golem, at the very least. His partner was pure human, though."

Finally looking around in the dim moonlight, Spike groaned under his breath (taken specifically for this very purpose). He'd been in that plane long enough for him to get well out of the Los Angeles city limits. The vampire wasn't sure exactly where he'd landed, but his surroundings were most decidedly not anywhere near that large, smoggy municipality during the late 1950's. Spike unhappily eyed the desert valley terrain as far as he could see ahead in the gloom, with all its tiresome thorny vegetation, rock-strewn ground, and most importantly, not a sign of any kind of human inhabitation at all.

Turning slowly in a circle, the vampire found nothing but more of the same bloody wilderness. However, in one direction, there was a steep range of tall hills or short mountains. Shrugging, Spike decided to head in that direction, if only because climbing up there would allow him to see further and maybe spot some sort of distant town, where he could snack upon somebody. Plus, as the demon started walking to his chosen destination, Spike reminded himself there was the likelihood of finding there a cave or other dark crevice where he could hide against the sun rising in a few hours. It was true, if necessary, that Spike could simply dig a hole in the ground, jump in there, pull the shielding dirt completely over himself, and then wait for the next sunset. But this was so bloody _undignified._

A very boring hour later, Spike idly caught sight of something out of the corner of his eye. Glancing over there, he saw about a mile or so away a small dust cloud hanging in the air a few feet above the ground. Stopping short in surprise, the vampire looked harder at this, but he couldn't see anything which might've caused this: a car driving by, someone running there, or an animal spooked by hearing an off-key Cockney voice loudly singing "The Bastard King of England."

While he was contemplating this, another dust cloud abruptly puffed into existence, now only about a half-mile away. To Spike's sudden concern, this patch of haze was aimed directly at him! Yet, he _still_ couldn't see anything! It wasn't even the wind, since the air was completely calm all around! Nervously backing up a few steps, Spike frantically listened with his superhuman hearing, only to catch an odd kind of noise coming from the region of his feet which seemed to resemble a low rushing or continuous scratching sound, as if something was steadily digging-

_Another_ puff of dust appeared about a hundred yards away, and this time Spike saw the ground directly under the dirt cloud rise and ripple right towards him! It was like the ground was water and some kind of, of, _thing_ was swimming under there while leaving a sort of solid wake behind-

Sensibly deciding it was far past time to get the hell out of there, Spike whirled around, and he dashed off at his full vampiric speed. Anxiously glancing over his shoulder, this demon soon realized with total horror that whatever was now chasing him had also put on a burst of extra velocity, and it was holding its own during the pursuit. Still only a few hundred feet in front of the what-is-it, Spike twisted his head back around, just in time to change his headlong dash into a hasty leap over the cactus patch he'd nearly stumbled into. Landing just past the last spiny plant, Spike kept on running, with a quick thought making him glance behind.

Back there, numerous cacti were being lifted and hurled into the air as if they were leaves by the burrowing thing which was after Spike. Shaken by what he'd seen, the sprinting vampire concentrated on looking ahead for any place to take shelter, only to instantly feel a stab of absolute terror inside his mind. About a mile or so further on, there were now _two _dust clouds! If the thing behind him could be located at the six o'clock position, then the other unknown entities in front were at the ten and two o'clock positions, respectively. Beginning to mentally gibber as he kept on running, Spike despairingly realized he couldn't swerve to either side in attempting to escape being trapped, since the things ahead could easily cut him off, no matter which way he went. But if he didn't do anything, in less than a minute, he'd be caught-

Skidding to a stop of the desert floor, Spike again spun around, and then he started running at full speed back the way he'd come, directly at his hidden pursuer. His face grimly set, Spike actually had a method in his madness, given what he'd done just a few seconds ago. That thing coming towards him was underground, no question about it, but Spike didn't have to let it grab him from underneath or fall onto it. Not when his legs had the supernatural power to make tremendous leaps, just like effortlessly jumping over the thirty-foot-wide cactus patch mere instants before.

A reckless snarl on his lips, Spike continued to race towards the disturbed ground rushing to meet him. At the very last moment, the vampire let his body crouch, and right after, every ounce of energy he could manage went into the most powerful bound forward he'd ever attempted. Soaring high up the desert floor, Spike exultantly looked ahead to where he was going to land, far behind the thing which was after him. By the time this mysterious beast turned around to continue with its bleedin' friends their chase after the vampire, he'd be well away-

Under the ascending demon, the ground erupted, and a massive column of flesh rose vertically to seize its escaping prey. What would decades later be called a 'Graboid' now used its mouth tentacles to snatch Spike right out of the air, and then this astonished demon was promptly stuffed into the subterranean creature's fanged maw. Letting itself collapse back onto the ground, which shook under the impact of the giant worm's tremendous weight, this unique beast started to taste its latest kill.

Spike was still conscious and just beginning to realize his fate, as the massive rings of muscle surrounding his body started to tightly clench, with the inner teeth biting deeply into the vampire's form, ripping and tearing through his clothes.

Except, in the very next instant, the undead Englishman was flying through the air once more, only this time in an uncontrolled tumble that ended in an awkward sprawl upon the rocky ground. Groaning at his numerous aches and pains, Spike shakily sat up, to then regard with disgusted stupefaction how slimy his entire body was after being-

"GLAAHK! GLAAHK!"

Cringing from those bizarre noises just a few feet away, Spike turned his head to look right down the fully-open throat of a convulsing monster which had just tried to eat a vampire, and had also immediately learned why this was truly a bad idea.

It all had to do with what a certain blonde Slayer would determinedly overlook a number of years hence. Namely, every single vampire, whether they had a soul or not, was in truth a walking corpse. The magic used by demons to take over the deceased body of their victim would ensure this now-undead flesh wouldn't ever decompose or putrefy. At least in a manner noticeable to the senses of humans and the usual other animals which any vampire would normally encounter.

A Graboid wasn't something which could be classified in any way as 'normal', and these creatures living beneath the ground also possessed senses which weren't at all ordinary. The meat-eating giant worms could and would consume carrion, but there were limits to what even their stomachs could tolerate. The sudden comprehension that it'd just swallowed a meal consisting of food which had been rotting for over eighty years had lead to the Graboid instantly getting rid of tonight's nauseating tidbit.

"GLAAAAAAAHK!"

Staggering to his feet, Spike gawked at the very unhappy Graboid declaring its misery to the whole world. Hearing a faint rumble from behind, the vampire hastily glanced over his shoulder, to see there two large dust clouds indicating where the other pair of underground monsters had heard their comrade's distress. At once linking these sounds of suffering to their latest unconsumed prey, the rest of the hunting pack chose a quick withdrawal into the opposite direction, rather than eat something so vile.

Turning back to disbelievingly regard the creature that'd almost devoured Spike, this vampire now heard one last "GLAAHK!" of pure revulsion. Right afterwards, the big worm or snake or whatever put down its eyeless head and it effortlessly tunneled into the ground. Hopefully, to soon find something a lot less noxious than the sickening entity standing nearby.

A few seconds later, Spike was alone in the desert. Anyone else who'd somehow been there through all this would've then prudently made themselves scarce at seeing the growing look of offended fury upon this demon's countenance. Swiftly bending down to snatch at a rock, Spike straightened up, and then he wrathfully hurled this stone with all his might at the heap of disturbed soil which marked the spot where the weirdest creature he'd met during his entire unlife had just made absolutely clear their opinion about William the Bloody's edibility.

Beginning an indignant tirade which would last a good half-hour, Spike started off by bellowing, "ARE YOU SAYING I'M NOT EVEN GOOD ENOUGH TO EAT? WELL, LET ME TELL YOU-"


	5. Another Bad Night In Another Desert

Observe the little yellowish-tan spider down there crawling across the soil, pebbles, and other parts of the desert floor in the middle of the night. Known as _Loxosceles deserta_, or more simply as the desert recluse spider, millions of years of evolution superbly adapted this tiny arachnid for life in a waterless region.

It really was a pity that evolution couldn't do anything about the rapidly descending boot heel which stomped the spider into a damp smear on the dry ground.

Lifting his head, Spike the vampire smirked at the military base below the squat hill where he was standing, with the whole place there seemingly fast asleep at this late hour. Surrounded by the barren, treeless landscape, this compound was surely going to be easy to break into and then complete his murderous task. *Well, might as well get on with it.*

Strolling downhill, Spike headed towards what looked like a warehouse behind the protective chain-link fence topped with barbed wire. No reason to let any possible sentries around lay eyes on him right off. He'd jump the fence, investigate the building on the remote chance his quarry was in there, and then start searching elsewhere if that didn't pan out.

Since the amount of money offered was good, plus he'd been feeling a bit bored when some mysterious villain had contacted him, Spike didn't particularly care _why_ he was supposed to murder some big-brain scientist located tonight in the base. He'd been shown a picture to help him to recognize Dr. Benton Quest without any trouble, and also another photograph, which looked like some sort of family group with this same man and a few more people. Remembering it, the vampire shrugged. If those others were also there, the bodyguard and the two kiddies, they'd die too, with the little dog kept for an after-dinner mint.

Actually, the only thing which had concerned the English demon had been _where_ the job was supposed to take place. Even a couple of years after a very humiliating encounter in another desert, Spike kept a wary eye around whenever he had to visit those specific arid environments. Speaking of this, the vampire paused to suspiciously glance to either side, and then over his shoulder to check the rear. Seeing no sign of advancing dust clouds which would indicate he risked getting eaten again, this time by one of those soddin' worms who'd changed their minds about the taste of his treasured skin, a somewhat reassured Spike continued his journey towards the military base.

Stopping in front of the fence, Spike began to bend his knees in preparation for his leap, only to then freeze solid. He'd felt from the bottoms of his feet a faint vibration in the ground-

The warehouse exploded.

Flinching back from the sudden cloud of flying debris which a moment ago had been an intact building, Spike continued to stand there as he gawked at what was now revealed through the nighttime gloom by his keen sight.

In the middle of the destroyed storage structure, an enormous object made of some kind of black metal now reared itself up. Four lengthy, multi-jointed legs met to support a ten-foot-wide central globe, which then swiveled to stare right with a single bright-red eye at a stunned Spike. For the next few moments, as alarm sirens began to wail throughout the wakened military base, the two unnatural entities regarded each other.

Without any warning at all, the bizarre machine then moved, scuttling on all four limbs directly towards the chain-link fence and Spike behind this. Though, the extraordinary automation was most likely taking the straightest path away from its former location, rather than making an actual attack against the blond demon. This still wasn't any great comfort to the vampire, who couldn't tell exactly which of those flailing legs were moving in his direction. Desperately trying to guess which way to dodge, Spike then made a hasty lunge over to where he hoped was the correct spot-

A shadow passed over the undead young man, and as Spike lifted up his face to the sky, the vampire stared in sudden horror at the descending flat plate attached to the end of the extremity which was coming right at his head.

_Crunch!_

* * *

An hour after sunset on the following day, a hand broke free from the surface of the soil slumping inwards into the hole where Spike had been driven deep down into the ground, just like a nail briskly hammered into a block of wood. However, nails don't usually feel like just about every bone in their body was broken, because _his_ had bloody well been! It'd taken hours for him to fully heal up, and by then, the sun had arisen. Something Spike had painfully found out by a set of scorched fingertips when he'd previously poked his hand in a cautious test upwards through the earth covering him. Having no other alternative, the annoyed demon had to wait for dark to free himself, which was right now.

Grumpily digging himself out, Spike eventually wiped away sand from his eyes, and while looking around, he found at his location numerous tire and tank tracks of these vehicles which had hours before gone after the weird contraption that'd walloped him. Fortunately (for them, that is), nobody was presently in the vicinity to see Spike appear, since the fuming vampire would've instantly massacred any witnesses who hadn't left after viewing the destruction from today's incredible events. Casting a very evil glance at the military base, Spike stalked off, crossly snarling the decision he'd previously made while stuck in the hole.

"Bugger going after the Quest bloke! Me, I'll be having instead a pleasant little chat while ripping off their arms and legs with the pillocks who sent me here! Like they couldn't have said anytime before, 'Spike, laddie, when you're doing the job, look out for the big robot spider who might step on you!"

* * *

Author's Note: When the 1960's _Jonny Quest _tv cartoon show ran its credits, among the most iconic images for me was how the giant mechanical spider easily shrugged off direct hits by tank and bazooka shells. A single vampire wouldn't have lasted long against that thing, you have to admit.


	6. Other People Have Only One Name

*This was going to be droll,* Spike mentally sniggered, as he approached from out of the dark hallway towards the open door having the lights on inside the room just beyond. It appealed to his sadistic sense of humor to walk right into the middle of a hold-up, just to see what'd happen. From where he'd been roaming through the deserted office building in a run-down business district on the west side of Philadelphia, the vampire had been attracted by the heartbeats of two people working in the back. From listening in on their idle conversation with his supernatural hearing, those blokes were part of some sort of criminal organization and they'd been totaling up the cash from running a gambling ring throughout the city.

Spike honestly didn't care about the money. He'd far prefer a bite to eat, which was why the undead creature of the night had been heading en route for his latest meal. However, just a few seconds ago, some other bloke had burst into the back room from an outside door. By the sound of things, he was about to rob the other two men, who weren't happy about this at all.

Grinning with gleaming teeth which changed into sharp fangs, Spike put on his demonic visage of glowing yellow eyes and a distorted face of pure evil. The vampire then impulsively decided to pop in there and announce in his most cheery tone to everyone in the other room that they were totally fucked. It'd be interesting to see how they handled it, if only to spice up an otherwise boring night. *Right, let's be on with it.*

Stepping into the doorway, Spike started to open his mouth, except he was immediately shot right between the eyes.

Limply collapsing to the floor, the astonished vampire tried to deal with what'd just happened. Not that he'd really been harmed, in spite of this. The magic cast upon his dead body decades before by the demon which had taken over the personality of a young Victorian poet would handily shrug off any harm caused by a mere low-caliber bullet passing through his skull. Only tremendous damage from any firearm capable of destroying in full his brain or unbeating heart, such as a shotgun loaded with buck and ball, or even an elephant gun, would successfully dust the vampire.

It didn't mean that Spike would escape at all the fleeting disorientation from getting directly targeted in the head by a gun. Not to mention it bloody well _hurt._

Remaining immobile on the ground, Spike started to become really angry about this. Until his attention was abruptly diverted by two other gunshots, followed after this by the separate thuds of a pair of objects also falling down in the other room. A few seconds later, the vampire smelled the sudden odors of blood intermixed with gunpowder.

Still successfully passing himself off as a corpse (well, he _was_ one, but let's not get into that right now), a growing-intrigued Spike waited for whatever would happen next. If the bloke who'd shot both him and the other chaps came over to check where his body was lying sprawled in the doorway with his head concealed in the darkness of the unlit hallway, then this berk was going to get the worse surprise of his entire life. Which wouldn't last all that much longer, because the vampire was getting a touch peckish from the odor of the lovely blood over there. A nice steady draining to the very last drop of hemoglobin while looking into Spike's smirking face would be a proper punishment for daring to shoot him!

Except…Spike wasn't getting any sort of smell through the other distracting odors of the normal kind of reaction for humans after performing a triple murder. It was really strange. No fear, panic, nervous sweat, rapid heartbeat- Come to think of it, there hadn't even been a single increase in that gunman's pulse when he'd killed the original occupants of the building.

Spike was now becoming genuinely curious about the other bloke acting like virtually nobody else with a soul the English demon had ever encountered. He concentrated on listening to what the human was doing, and if his eyes hadn't been closed, Spike would've blinked in sheer surprise. From the noise of footsteps accompanied by the rustle of paper, the bloody man was calmly gathering up the money! Beginning to feel actual appreciation for this self-possessed killer, Spike now listened to this bloke moving away, followed by the back door opening and then closing.

Quickly getting to his feet, Spike stepped at last into the room. Casually glancing at the pair of dead men with their contorted lifeless faces of terror huddled on the floor, the vampire headed past them to the rear door. Cautiously pulling it ajar, Spike peeked out into the back alley out there, and he saw a run-down car already pulling away. A blond monster now spent a few quick moments mulling over what to do next. With his inhuman speed, it'd be a cinch to overtake the car and-

And then _what? _Judging from everything which had already taken place in maybe the last minute at the most, the gunman wouldn't bat a single eye at being chased by someone he'd already killed. No, indeed. Rather, that supremely dangerous chap would just shoot Spike again. Only this time, the stranger could have some other firearm in the car with him which might actually have a chance to dust the vampire. This was soddin' America, after all, with every chappie from childhood on encouraged in their gun-happy ways. All that'd take the cake for tonight was for Spike to be shot through with numerous holes by some bleedin' Tommy gun.

Oh, bugger it.

Irritably slamming shut the door, Spike turned to glower at the corpses leaking their blood on the room floor. That managed to distract the vampire, all the lovely red liquid there going to waste. Striding over to bend down and grip a slack arm, Spike effortlessly lifted up the body and he sank his fangs into the dead man's neck. Beginning to enjoy his dinner, the vampire soon forgot all about what's-his-name out there.

* * *

Parker continued to steadily drive his car with the money hidden in the trunk a mile or two under the speed limits of the nighttime Philadelphia streets. The car was clean as to all meanings of that word, both legally and recently washed, and in good mechanical shape. There was nothing to make any cop in their patrol car decide to pull him over. If this still happened, he'd do whatever it took to make sure the encounter ended in his favor, from meekly accepting a traffic ticket to killing any number of policemen and witnesses around.

This was the specific reason for the whole confrontation which had ended in death for everyone else back there. Once Parker shot the guy in the monster mask suddenly appearing in the doorway, it'd been necessary to dispose of the others to make sure nobody talked. In the car, an utterly ruthless career criminal specializing in armed robbery never gave the slightest thought as to why the first man had done something so stupid as to wear that weird face and barge right into the middle of a heist. An entirely different person would've at least wondered and come up with possible explanations. Some kind of practical joke? Or, however unlikely it might've been, another robber who'd disguised himself?

But then, if the car's driver had been anyone else, he wouldn't have been Parker.

* * *

Author's Note: Donald E. Westlake was a prolific American crime fiction writer, usually specializing in comic novels starring his hapless protagonist John Dortmunder, perhaps the unluckiest burglar ever, who in his first appearance had to steal the same emerald a half-dozen times. Westlake also wrote a series of over twenty books involving Parker, who seemingly has no other name. A true anti-hero, this cold, remorseless criminal will do whatever necessary to accomplish his planned robberies, and also to escape the consequences when these crimes go wrong, as they tend to do.

Spike was far luckier than he knew, meeting and surviving a human predator as ferocious and deadly as this own vampire.


	7. I'll Be Superamalgamated!

*What _was_ it with heroes, anyway?* mentally grumbled Spike to himself, as he leaned against a handy tree. *Do those interfering sods ever have the common courtesy to show up right at the start of some proper villain's plans, pull the plug on everything then, and give this poor bloke just a sound thumping before he puts all his time and trouble into some decent wickedness? Not bleedin' likely. It's as if they've got some sort of damn sixth sense about it. None of them ever fail to arrive at the most dramatic moment, demolishing any fiendish machine in sight - which probably took _years_ of working his fingers to the bone to build - and for the climax, sending some misunderstood chap to their unwelcomed demise. Simply because their so-called foe might want to kill maybe a couple of thousand people, at the most. Where's the harm in that?*

Self-righteously nodding firmly several times, the vampire then sent an exasperated glower across the night-time forested valley way, way back in the hills of Appalachia, to where the ruins of an evil mastermind's schemes continued to smolder. There, about several hundred yards away against the side of the steep hill matching Spike's own location, a line of very sullen prisoners were coming out of a large cave lit up by numerous car headlights from the vehicles parked to face this natural aperture. Watched over by numerous state police, all who were holding their rifles ready for trouble, a few of the minions took quick, hopeful looks around, seeking for any sign of their fearless leader.

A suddenly sardonic Spike, observing this latest example of humanity's optimism even during situations when they should've really known better, sniggered inwardly. *Sorry, you lot, but he sensibly legged it a few minutes before it went totally balls-up with the arrival of those six blokes.*

An English demon then thoughtfully eyed the small group by the side of the cave deeply occupied in discussions with each other and the higher-ranking authorities dealing with tonight's crackdown. *Never saw 'em before, but at least I know now who to avoid in the future. Big gloomy bloke, squat strongman who probably got nicknamed 'Ape' right from birth, long drink of water, somebody who's as pale as me, the one with a tailor I'd have wanted back when I was breathing, and _him,_ of course.*

Spike naturally meant the tallest man there, standing in the clearing before the cave where he and his band of adventurers had invaded several minutes ago to break the reign of supernatural terror this rural county's inhabitants had suffered for the past month. It'd taken some brisk fighting, but they'd won, as usual. Also customary had been the revelation that all the strange events taking place during then had been instigated by some mad scientist surreptitiously using his eccentric devices, which except for a few minor details resulted in a perfectly ordinary explanation. All to the disgruntlement of the watcher on the other side of the valley.

Spike had been idly passing through nearby the wooded region several weeks ago, bored stiff but still doing his usual atrocities, until the vampire had heard a rumor through the demon grapevine there'd been something odd going on around this neighborhood. Distracted enough to investigate, the former human had quickly discovered, with a combination of mild amusement intermixed with exasperated annoyance, that the news of unholy fiends running amok around the place merely happened to be someone's scam. About to wander off, a sudden whim of malicious mischief changed Spike's mind, and he'd started to anonymously join in, making it appear as if the recent terrified stories among the local populace were indeed true. It'd been rather amusing, picking off the occasional underling and innocent bystander, until _everyone_ was convinced, despite it being the modern times of 1938, that evil spirits were on the loose in the hills.

*Well, obviously,* Spike smirked to himself. His happy mood quickly changed to wryness, as this demon acknowledge it was now time to toddle off since there was nothing further to do here. Spike shrugged in casual acceptance, with his shoulder brushing against a branch of the tree he was next to, making this bough slightly sway in the calm night air.

Across the valley, Doc Savaged snapped his head around, to stare directly at what had caught this impressively muscled man's attention from the corner of his eye. Seeing what their leader had done, the others reacted almost as quickly. Renny, Monk, Long Tom, Johnny, and Ham simultaneously pulled from their holsters the handguns they carried, and they all aimed these advanced weapons at the tree-covered hillside nearly a thousand feet away.

There, a fearful monster was intensely grateful his unliving body didn't need to breathe, and it could also remain as still as an actual corpse. He'd _seen_ what those automatic pistols now pointing at him from so far away could do. They had incredible range, not to mention rapidly firing some kind of explosive bullet which went off when they struck their target with a devastating detonation equal to a full-sized hand grenade for every single round.

Spike didn't move a muscle, until several moments later, when the man with bronze skin seemingly looking him right in the eye turned away. His mouth opened in orders unheard by the vampire, but obeyed by his friends, who put away their guns. Only when he was sure this wasn't some sort of trick did Spike warily edge backwards until he put the nearby tree completely between himself and the astounding bloke in the distance, who had to be some kind of superhuman.

Turning around, the vampire next scrambled up the hill, making sure he remained shielded from view at all times. Going over the ridge and then downhill, Spike next started sprinting through the forest with all the demonic speed he could muster. It wasn't until he'd put at least a couple miles behind himself that Spike slowed down and began to feel a bit relieved. *That was too bloody close,* the creature of the night shakily thought. *Best to keep traveling on until, oh, the next state over, for preference.*

Enthusiastically agreeing with this decision, Spike continued trotting ahead at a steady, ground-covering lope, until he soon broke out from under the trees into a moonlit meadow. Looking ahead, the startled vampire abruptly halted in his tracks at seeing something truly peculiar several yards further ahead, perched atop a small boulder at the other end of the grassy field. Even with his superb night vision, the demon wasn't sure exactly what he was looking at. It seemed to be some sort of small man, or perhaps even a child, completely naked but covered from head to toe with thick, rusty-colored hair as it sat unmoving on its rock.

Warily approaching, Spike blinked as the strange being stirred, shifting around to face him. Now that he was closer, the blond demon now observed in his complete bafflement some sort of bizarre ape or monkey in a region which it shouldn't have possibly existed. The little primate then bared its yellow teeth in what could be nothing but an angry snarl at the vampire, who in turn glared back. In a scratchy voice, the unusual anthropoid chattered several short barks of utter contempt.

"Same to you, you little perisher!" snapped an irritiated Spike. An evil glint began glowing in his eyes, as the vampire began to casually edge nearer. He was decidedly in the mood for a little bloodshed, and here was something close at hand to take his bad temper out-

Making one more step forward, Spike didn't react in time to the rush of the small animal which had been crouching down to hide in a little hollow of the grassy ground. Sharp tusks slashed at his left ankle, putting a deep wound in the undead flesh there which instantly healed, though a panicked Spike flinching away from the unexpected pain fell over onto his side, slamming down on the meadow floor, while instantly roaring, "WHAT THE HELL- OWWW!"

That last yelp of agony from Spike had come right after the sound of rock bouncing off bone, when the ape perched on its boulder had expertly thrown at him with skull-cracking force a golfball sized pebble previously hidden in its clenched right palm. Shaking his head until the pain disappeared, an immense wave of fury overcame Spike, who then bellowed, "I'M GONNA TEAR YOU INTO PIECES!"

Leaping to his feet, the enraged vampire rushed at the now-abandoned boulder, and Spike kept on running past this after two fleeing beasts, with the sprinting ape now at the side of some sort of galloping…pig?

Spike was too mad to care about this, as he chased the pair of animals into the forest ahead. These creatures split up upon reaching the treeline, with the ape speedily clambering up the nearest woody trunk, and the pig disappearing into the underbrush. Skidding to a stop in front of the tree the ape had gone up, Spike glared into the leaves above, not seeing-

"YAAHHH!"

That was in reaction to another ambush which had just come from the pig, who'd quietly crept from out of a bush to the side, and then attacked the demon from behind, nearly hamstringing Spike, who had no time to appreciate the fitness of that specific verb. Instead, he wheeled around just at the right point to save his Achilles tendons from being severed, and then he bent over to grab at the hindquarters of the dodging pig which had frantically turned around almost in its own length at the failure of this attack. Spike's fingers were just about to catch the skinny hog, until a very thick and heavy branch hurled from above smashed against the back of Spike's head, shattering into numerous splinters.

Now well into a berserker rage, Spike turned and leapt with all the demonic strength his legs possessed, sailing upwards high into the tree. Clutching at the nearest woody limb at the apex of his leap, the vampire saw the ape scuttling along a springy branch and using it as a swing to jump into another neighboring tree. A powerful thrust of his arms sent Spike along after, and he reached out to grab another branch of the newest field of battle. However, this fragile bough then ripped completely away from the tree. Spike had enough time falling helplessly face-first towards the ground to consider the difference between an ape which weighed probably fifty pounds or so, and another biped more than twice as heavy as his ancestral cousin.

It went on like that for the next several minutes, with Spike unable to catch either of the tormenting beasts. He could've effectively dealt with one at a time, but the ape and the pig flawlessly worked together. Whenever the vampire turned his attention to a single animal, the other made their own attack or got away to try again. Infuriated shouts, loud chattering, and powerful grunts continued to ring throughout the forest, until all three antagonists burst out of the treeline once more.

This odd trio found beyond themselves a short stretch of bare, level ground which abruptly ended in a twenty-foot plunge onto a county graveled road cut into the rocky hillside. The road builders hadn't bothered with such effete measures as a guardrail on the other side of the lane, despite there being a much longer and nearly vertical steep drop a hundred feet further down into the valley to the creek directly below. All this was realized in a shared flash of understanding, but it didn't stop the ape and the pig from running straight at the upper edge and then jumping off. All while being pursued by Spike now so totally lost in his bloodlust that the demon followed right after his prey, leaping after without any hesitation whatsoever.

At the same moment when everyone was in the start of their descent, the ape casually reached out with a lanky arm and snagged a protruding rock just below the upper edge of the road's inside wall. Jerked to a halt, this mysterious primate reached out with his other hand, and it grabbed one of the falling pig's enormous ears, with the only reaction made by this hog being a loud, pained squeal as the porker also stopped in his drop onto the road.

Spike wasn't so lucky, with the vampire trying one quick, unsuccessful swipe in mid-air at the dangling pair of animals, until he passed them in his own descent. A hasty twist of his body resulted in Spike landing easily on his feet in the middle of the road. As he stood there glaring up at the two beasts looking down at him, this demon was just about to jump back up there in the very next second-

_HOOOONK!_

Spike whirled around to look straight into a pair of bright automobile headlights only a few yards away, and barreling with reckless velocity by someone who'd previously planned for everything concerning his getaway, except for an undead Englishman now directly in his speeding car's path!

* * *

Shortly after sunrise the next day, Renny walked away from the charred wreck of the car crumpled up against a projecting rock portion of the hillside. Looking gloomier than usual, which actually meant he was in a mood of quiet satisfaction, this brawny civil engineer joined his leader and the rest of their group examining something in the road. When Doc and the others glanced up, they saw being held out in this man's enormous right hand an ornate cloth mask with a Roman numeral 'I' embroidered in gold thread on the upper face of this disguise. In a deep bass voice, Renny confirmed, "The body back there's exactly who you said he'd be, Doc. Mayor Ferguson himself, who died trying to escape. What'd he do, lose control of his car?"

Doc Savage looked back down at the impressions upon the surface of the road that one of the most skilled trackers in the world could read as easily as a child's primer, and the Man of Bronze thoughtfully shook his head. "Not at first, Renny. From what I can see, the driver instantly stepped on the brake pedal as hard as possible, and then he hit something."

Squatting on his haunches, Doc carefully picked out a tiny piece of metal from the various debris laying upon the scuffed road surface, and he held this up for it to sparkle in the morning sunlight. The other five men now heard from him, "This is part of the radiator. The collison from whatever was struck happened so violently it broke off this car part, and then it caused the mayor responsible for us coming here to no longer be able to keep his vehicle on the road. It slewed off to the side, and as you can see, it was eventually brought to a fatal halt." Straightening up, Doc nodded up ahead at the scorched ruins of the automobile where two county seat employees from the coroner's department were gingerly removing a burned corpse.

Johnny spoke up then, asking what the others were thinking, "So, what'd the mayor hit, anyway? Some kind of animal? A deer, maybe? There's lots of them around in the hills here."

"Possibly," Doc Savage allowed. However, this giant of a man now had a rare flicker of uncertainty cross over his deeply-tanned face, as he ruefully confessed to his associates, "What's odd is that I can't find any traces of it on the road. No hairs, blood drops, that kind of thing. Strangest of all, there's no likelihood this animal survived to drag itself away, so where's the body?"

At that, all the others looked around at the bare road, until their gazes stopped at the far edge where a very steep drop-off began. Without a single word being spoken, everyone strolled over there until they were staring down a rocky precipice to the thick bushes lining the small creek far below. Eyeing this concealing foliage, Long Tom irascibly grunted, "Don't see where it landed after getting punched off here by the car, and I'm not going to climb down to search for something that's already got to be stone-cold dead. Our job's over and done with, so let's get out of this place right now and head back to New York."

"Hey!" instantly protested Monk in his squeaky voice, as both he and Ham together glared in a rare show of unanimity at the pasty-faced electrical genius. "We're like blazes leaving, not until our pets show up!"

As if these very words had been a signal, a loud chattering sound intermixed with ear-piercing squeals now came from above the group standing on the road. Their heads turning as one, the six men looked up to see peering over the edge of the upper slope the head of a small ape bearing a truly incredible resemblance to a now-grinning member of their company, and also the quivering pink snout of a rangy pig with ears the size of a lady's overstuffed purse.

Doc Savage's face was as solemn as usual, but he had an actual faint twinkle of amusement in his golden eyes when he then suggested, "Monk, Ham, there's a path down to the road a hundred yards behind us. Tell Habeas Corpus and Chemistry to meet us there, and we'll pick them up on the way back to town."

Giving an eye-rolling Long Tom equally identical smirks, the supremely skilled chemist and one of America's finest lawyers waved their hands in intricate gestures. Above their masters, the carefully-trained animals adopted during the group's previous exploits immediately obeyed. Right after the highly intelligent beasts moved off to be gathered up, the Man of Bronze and his band of brothers went to find their car, all while two of these adventurers momentarily set aside their lifelong feud to indignantly chide a third, who was giving as good as he got.

Down in the creek thicket, someone who'd completely buried himself in the soggy ground against the sun's blistering rays while he waited for his undead body to heal up from his multiple broken bones continued to listen to the voices high above until they finally faded away. After a great deal of consideration, Spike the vampire now bitterly mumbled through the mud covering his face, "Blimey, and I thought heroes were bad! Sidekicks are _worse!"_


	8. Hooray for Hollywood!

All he'd wanted to do was to putter in his back garden for a few minutes. It'd been a long day at work, and after arriving home well past sunset, he'd parked his car in the garage and gone directly from there to relax in his rear yard before entering his West Coast house. The man happily strolling around in the bright moonlight and examining with a keen eye the progress of his roses certainly wasn't expecting to be attacked, not in such a peaceful Los Angeles residential neighborhood during the year 1936.

Nevertheless, a swiftly-moving figure coming out of the shadows of the rear garden shrubs then tackled him without any warning whatsoever. This assaulted man was knocked onto the ground, his back slamming hard enough against the grass to take his breath away. Gasping in shock, he looked up into the countenance of someone straddling his prone body, who either had a truly bizarre facial deformity, or this assailant was wearing a disguise of some sort, consisting of theatrical makeup far exceeding anything Jack could ever invent.

Grinning with the best dental prosthetics he'd ever seen that showed off an extremely convincing set of fangs, the man holding him prisoner looked down with glowing yellow eyes (Some sort of contacts? No, not even Lon had managed that!), and in the very next moment, the ridged features of his captor contorted from evil amusement into astonished recognition.

Held down on the ground, the prisoner now heard a very shocked Cockney voice blurt out, "Blimey, you're _him,_ aren't you?" Faster than he thought anyone could move, the attacker leapt off his body to stand up straight, until the other person bent down to grip the bewildered homeowner under his armpits, and without any trouble at all, he'd been lifted to his own feet.

Swaying on his shaky legs, the dumbstruck resident suffered himself to be hurriedly brushed off with quick strokes of the other's right hand, all while listening to an apologetic babble which he couldn't make head nor tails of:

"Awfully sorry about this, old chap. Believe me, I'd never have done it if I'd known who you were. I've been an admirer of your work for years! Your monster in the Frankenstein movies - the original and the sequel - bloody fantastic! When I saw them for the first time, I read up and watched everything else you've done! Imagine my delight when I learned something else, even though the names have to be just a coincidence. My pater was an only child like me, and I don't think he had any other near relatives. Um…"

As the voice of this lunatic trailed off, the weird planes of his face now changed into an actual sheepish expression. Digging into his pockets, a crumpled piece of paper and a pen were extracted and tentatively held out, with an accompanying wheedling tone being uttered. "I know this is a bit of an imposition, but would you terribly mind? Don't worry, just put down both names - your own and your screen name - and I'll be off quick as a wink!"

For the first time in the last few incredible minutes, the numb man finally had something occur that he actually understood. In his extreme daze after taking the eagerly proffered objects, the signature he usually put down upon legal documents was then scribbled onto the paper:

_William H. Pratt aka Boris Karloff_

"Thank you very much!" was gleefully delivered a second later while the stranger examined in absolute satisfaction his newest treasure. Glancing up to beam with those really authentic-appearing fangs, this younger blond man began to sidle back into the garden's shadows. Just before he completely disappeared into the darkness, a determined voice which oddly combined a Cockney inflection with a much more educated enunciation now stated, "Don't worry, Mr. _Pratt._ I'll be passing the word around, that both you and this place are totally off limits as long as you're here. Trust me, nothing and nobody will ever bother you again, or they'll be answering to William the Bloody!"

After the last echoes of this truly perplexing vow died out in the now-silent garden, the man still standing there alone on the cultivated grounds just stared blankly ahead for several moments. Then, he did what any proper Englishman would do in reaction to the recent inexplicable events. He went off to enter by the back door his home's kitchen, and while in there, William Pratt made himself a very strong cup of tea.

That's where his wife discovered him. "Hello, dear," she cheerfully said, just before catching sight of his absorbed expression, to continue in a concerned voice, "Is something wrong?"

"I'm not exactly sure," confided the movie actor famed for his sinister portrayals of uncanny individuals. Thoughtfully stirring his cup, he went on in a much more certain tone: "However, I've just come to a decision. I never really believed Bela when he told me what some of his fans got up to, but that's changed. From now on, no matter how much money the studios offer, I won't ever take on a film role which requires me to portray a vampire."

* * *

Author's Note: Despite all his creepy characters in numerous films, the British actor with the screen alias of Boris Karloff was reputedly in real life a very kind and gentle man. This person who was actually born William Henry Pratt even managed to overcome a slightly ridiculous surname. In his native country, the word 'prat' is a slang insult for somebody unintelligent, much like the American 'clod'. It's more familiar here as part of the word 'pratfall' as demonstrated in just about every comedy film from the Keystone Kops onwards.

In BtVS canon, Spike the vampire wasn't given a last name when his past life while still a human was shown on the tv series, only the first name of William. The notion that this demon's full name is in fact William Pratt has been mentioned enough in fanfiction and other sources. I figured Spike well deserved this ludicrous name, and that he'd also be curious about meeting someone who as well shared this, even if it's totally by accident. This vampire would soon additionally become sensitive to the laughable qualities of two Pratts meeting each other, and Spike would certainly keep silent about the whole soddin' subject.

Another Note: The 'Jack' alluded to above is Jack Pierce, creator of the justly-famed makeup for the monster in Universal Studios' _Frankenstein_ series. You know it: the greenish skin, slab of a forehead, drooping eyelids, the neck bolts - yet Karloff still achieved artistic immortality by showing a poignant personality through everything covering his face. 'Lon' is Lon Chaney, of course, and for the final credit, 'Bela' is none other than Bela Lugosi (at whom Spike must've laughed himself sick the first time he ever watched this film vampire).

Final Note: It's unknown how things might work out for the Buffyverse's Boris Karloff, but in our dimension, the only time ever in all his numerous movies this actor did indeed play a vampire was in the 1963 Italian horror potboiler entitled _I Tre volti della paura,_ or in the English version, _Black Sabbath._ I've seen it, and the best you can say about that very low-budget flick is whatever else, Karloff always maintained a professional attitude about his work.


	9. I'm Not A 'Phimpaire', You Moron!

Eyeing the unconscious body of the bloke lying on the hallway floor dressed totally in black clothes just like him tonight, Spike turned away from the stranger he'd crept up from behind and sucker-punched a moment ago. Rubbing his knuckles, this demon now wonderingly stared at the open door of the Paris flat he'd walked into just before, all without the slightest bit of trouble. This was decidedly odd, no question about it. The mystical protections which guarded homes and prevented vampires from entering these residences unless actually invited by their inhabitants were still up on the other apartments in the entire building, except for this exact flat.

_Here,_ however, a bleedin' army of his fellow fanged monsters could drop in anytime without a single by-your-leave. Spike perplexedly scratched his head, caught up in the minor mystery. The simplest explanation just wouldn't fly, since the undead Englishman was positive he'd never previously been here in the flat during his entire existence. Anyway, if it'd somehow turned out an invitation to this place had been accidentally given for him in particular, why would it also apply to other vampires? More importantly, how come none of those thievin' buggers ever spotted the prospect for a free meal and barged in here to have a nice dinner?

Well, as Spike hungrily glanced at the out-cold man still face down on the floor, it was their hard luck. Tonight, he'd feast upon his latest prey, the bloke there- Oh, ho. From the sounds of things, someone else was also in the apartment, in one of the other rooms off the hallway. Intently listening, the vampire also sniffed the air. *Hmmm…male, mid-forties, good health, fairly fast heartbeat but he's staying still, smells tense- Wonder if he heard me?*

Sadistically grinning at the prospect of a little fiendish playtime, Spike vamped out into game face. He went to close the front door, and then while strolling back down the flat's hallway, the blond demon reached out to tip over a photograph standing upright in its silver frame atop a side table. In the absolute silence of the apartment, this soft, metallic clatter of a picture showing someone in formal dress at a medal ceremony echoed.

Elsewhere, in another room, a heartbeat accelerated. *Ah, _that_ got his attention. Hullo, he's moving off to another room. Must be interconnected. Let's have a dekko at where he was.*

Pushing a side door open, Spike entered a well-illuminated sitting room. Interestedly looking around the large space filled with masculine furnishings, the vampire cocked his head at the frozen immobility of his prey in the other room behind the door there. *Bedroom, probably. He's not on the phone calling the gendarmes, so that gives me a chance for some more fun.*

Loudly sighing, as if in frustration, Spike turned to stomp out of the sitting room, his footsteps ringing in the still air. Pulling the room door open again, the vampire paused to stand in the doorway, his head with its demonic features poking out into the hall and hidden from sight from anyone entering the sitting room. This indeed happened, with Spike smirking in evil delight as he continued to pretend to be looking outside. Behind the undead blond, the bedroom door opened and someone sneaked towards the figure in black apparently waiting for them to come down the hallway.

*At three, now - one - wonder if I can make him drop dead when he sees my face? - two - haven't done that in years - thr-*

Beginning to spin around, Spike only got halfway into his turn when a Japanese wooden sword known as a bokken and swung with tremendous force now walloped him directly on the left ear. Sent crashing into the doorframe as pain exploded in his skull, Spike bellowed at the top of his lungs with the sudden agony.

"_Yaaahhh!" _was shouted back at him in an equal decibel level, only this was a yell of pure fright by the man in the silk robe holding the bokken, who'd gotten his first look at his opponent somehow having a horribly deformed face with glowing yellow eyes and pointed fangs. Instinctively thrusting his weapon at his inhuman foe, the unthinking apartment resident wasn't completely in control of his actions, which sent the hard tip of the practice sword held low shoved forward and down, until it was rammed with incredible force right into Spike's groin.

This time, the scream ripped from the vampire's throat was even worse. Contorting to clutch at his lower parts, Spike stood on trembling legs, until his head snapped up to glare at the bloke who'd dared that supreme insult standing a few feet away and gaping at him. Still in his absurd position, Spike hurriedly waddled forward, his enraged expression promising an horrible revenge upon the other in the next couple of seconds.

Backpedaling just as hastily, the man with the bokken frantically glanced around the room, and as he passed a side table, his free hand reached out to snatch up a small lamp resting on top of this piece of furniture. Without a second's hesitation, the robed man hurled the lamp right at Spike's face.

However, the moment or two this action took was enough time for the vampire to slightly recover, letting go of his abused genitals and straightening up. His mouth open in a vicious snarl, Spike caught the thrown lamp by the first part of this appliance nearest himself, the lampshade and what it covered. Which was in fact the light bulb and its socket connected down the metal tube of the lamp to the electrical cord - which was still inserted into the wall socket itself.

This meant when a furious Spike crushed between his fingers the entire top part of the lamp, the shade collapsed, the bulb exploded, and the metal socket was destroyed - completing a circuit from the electricity running through the wiring system in the apartment to Spike himself.

An immense white flash surrounded the vampire for a fraction of a second, but in this extremely short period of time, Spike's hair caught on fire, his entire skeleton glowed under his skin, and two perfect smoke rings shot out from his ears. Then, the power failed throughout the whole apartment building, plunging every room in this structure into inky blackness.

In the downstairs apartment, a family in the middle of their dinner paused at the sudden gloom surrounding themselves. They waited patiently for Grand-père at the head of the table to do what was necessary. Sure enough, with wrinkled fingers, this oldster took out a match from its box by his plate, scraped it alight, and used it to ignite a candle before him. This gave enough illumination for the rest of the household at the table to lean over and pick up what was resting on the floor by their chairs. A moment later, a half-dozen umbrellas opened around the family circle, with these protective devices being held over everyone's heads with one hand and the other hand used to continue eating their dinner.

Throughout the next couple of minutes, numerous screams, crashes, thumps, and other disturbing noises from upstairs sent plentiful pieces of ceiling plaster raining downwards onto the resigned occupants. At the other end of the table, the father of the family once again bitterly reflected upon his mistake in not paying sufficient attention before signing the unbreakable five-year rental agreement for their apartment. He really should've been more suspicious about the fact that despite being in a truly fine neighborhood and also three times the size of their previous residence, this was the cheapest lodgings in the whole of Paris.

Long afterwards, a shamed Spike preferred to not think about what'd happened to end it, whether he'd really meant to escape by jumping headfirst through a closed side window, or if this was his opponent's ultimate triumph in knocking him entirely out of the building in a rain of shattered glass, to then plunge helplessly and land with bone-crunching force onto the hard cobblestones of the side alley running by the apartment building.

Painfully crawling on his hands and knees while departing from the scene of his disgraceful defeat through the garbage-strewn, malodorous alley (however well prepared and elegantly flavored, even French cuisine stinks to high heaven when it's thrown away), a considerably scorched and battered Spike vowed he'd never come back. Not even to get his revenge by slaughtering the insane bloke up there, since if there was a one in a thousandth chance of the story ever getting out to the rest of the demon underground of why he'd done this in the first place, the risk was simply too great for much more humiliation. Being trounced by a respected foe was one thing; it was entirely different getting beaten by an out-and-out idiot with more luck than fighting skill.

Back in the apartment, the lights suddenly came on, revealing a panting man dressed in a disheveled robe and standing there in the ruins of his house furnishings. He was also holding the bokken ready, just in case his adversary wanted another deathmatch. Looking around at the utter destruction of the entire room, Chief Inspector Jacques Clouseau of the French Sûreté proudly beamed at being once more the winner of the practice bouts he held with his manservant every other week.

Hearing a soft sound behind him, the policeman whirled around, only to relax at seeing Cato staggering inside, with this smaller man gingerly feeling the rear of his skull. Coming around lying on the floor in the darkness a few moments before, this Asian had dazedly replaced the fuses in the apartment kitchen's electrical panel, and then he'd gone off in search of his employer to learn what exactly was occurring tonight in the apartment.

Resting his wooden sword onto the top of his shoulder, Clouseau haughtily declared, "That was much better than your usual attempts, you little yellow minkey. The horrible mask was a rather nice touch, but of course, it couldn't fool for long a detective of my keen analytical skills. Well, now that you've returned from your tumble into the alley, call the repairers and furnishers again and tell them we'll need the usual. Leave the door open; I don't want to be disturbed during my shower." With those final supercilious words, the chief inspector arrogantly swaggered out of the destroyed room, brushing past a bewildered Cato along the way.

This black-clad servant gaped after Clouseau, his customary Oriental inscrutability having changed into the normal baffled incomprehension borne by those who'd had the misfortune to encounter this supremely self-confident dimwit. It didn't help either that this Frenchman had spoken in his usual mangled Français which caused even his fellow countrymen to fail in understanding the egoistical policeman. Opening his mouth to begin a confused question about the whole last few minutes, Cato paused, and then he sensibly decided there wasn't really any point.

Instead, the manservant mentally decided he'd hold the usual open house to have everything repaired and replaced, double the already-expensive bill for what would surely be charged, and pocket the difference, just like the last dozen times. Frankly, it was the only reason he stayed in the service of this crazy, insulting white devil, anyway.

Inwardly smirking in glee at the prospect of an exasperated minion's revenge, the now-impassive Asian deferentially called after his employer, "It shall be done, inspector."


	10. Season's Greetings, Spike

Giggling as he lurched through the ankle-deep brown slush of last night's snowstorm which had blown through a tired East Coast city just a week or so before the coming new year of 1968, Spike the vampire was actually finding it hilarious how his feet slipped and slid on the cracked, icy asphalt of the alleyway. His unexpected good mood was the result of feeding upon his latest meal a few minutes ago, right at the midnight hour. It wasn't until the blond demon had actually ambushed the now-dead bloke back there and started drinking this unfortunate victim's blood that Spike learned the other man must've been celebrating the entire Christmas eve in the nearest bar. Starting with downing what had to have been at least a dozen rum eggnogs.

Feeling no pain as the second-hand booze sloshed around in his stomach, Spike amiably staggered onwards-

"_HO-HO-HO!_"

Peeling himself off the bricks of the alley side wall he'd hastily plastered himself against to keep from falling flat on his face at being startled by that out of the blue voice coming from behind, Spike warily turned around on his wobbly legs. The vampire now gawked in total shock at the colorful being standing in the middle of the alley a few yards further up.

Shaking a reproving finger at the drunk demon, Santa Claus once more said in his booming voice, "Spike, you've been a very bad boy this year! Just like last year, and the year before that, and every other year too, come to think of it-"

His head was already beginning to throb in response to the approaching ungodly hangover, and the loud nattering of the insane sod in the red and white costume wasn't helping at all. This resulted in Spike forgetting himself enough to snarl a slurred response, "What's it to _you,_ tubby?"

"Dear me!" disapprovingly said Santa. Snapping his fingers, an immense stack of paper materialized out of thin air next to the man with a beard as white as snow. Standing on tiptoes in his black boots, Santa reached up to take the topmost paper (at about the eight-foot level), and pulling out a pen from somewhere in his scarlet clothing, he started to write down several comments concerning Spike's latest bad behavior, all while absently stating, "That's another black mark on your naughty list, young man!"

The vampire didn't react right off to this, being more preoccupied with opening and closing one eye to get rid of his sudden double vision which had created in the alley two Santas with their dual round little bellies. As a matter of fact, he was feeling a little peckish at the moment, what with the abrupt thought of jelly oddly appearing in his mind, so he might as well shut up the pillock and satisfy his appetite at the same time by eating that idiot there!

Beginning to saunter forward, Spike plastered a truly fake expression of innocence upon his handsome features and chuckled, "Oh, so what're you going to do about it, mate? Put a lump of coal in me stocking?"

Casually waving a hand which caused the paper stack to disappear right away, Santa then put both gloved fists on his pudgy hips, and the spirit of the season had a rare sardonic look flash over his dimpled countenance when he eyed the advancing vampire clearly up to no good. Evidently coming to some sort of decision, Santa snorted, "Oh, you're getting a gift from me tonight, but it won't be coal, _and _it won't be in your stocking! Judging from the way you've acted ever since becoming a vampire, your present about to be given to you in the next thirty seconds is exactly what you deserve!"

Spike didn't have the slightest idea what the other bloke was talking about, but it seemed to make this gobshite annoyed enough so that his face had turned as red as his clothes. Which just showed him to be chock-full of lovely blood, so it was time to stop messing around and become the big, bad, villain Spike had happily showed off to the entire world for decades. Abruptly changing his human visage into the aspect of a demon, Spike was about to lunge towards his latest snack.

However, in the middle of this, Santa didn't appear to be very much concerned. Instead, he lifted his face to the skies between the buildings arising around the pair in the alley, and the North Pole resident again used his resonant voice, calling out, "Now, Dasher! Now, Dancer! Now, Prancer and Vixen! On, Comet! On, Cupid! On, Donder and Blitzen! You, too, Rudolph, and make it a good one!"

Stopping short in his sudden bewilderment at such odd behavior from someone who ordinarily should've been screaming for help or begging for mercy, Spike then heard the faint sounds of rushing air coming from on high directly above him, as if an unknown object was plunging to the ground. Tilting back his head, the vampire stared upwards, until-

A few minutes later, Santa was joyfully guiding his flying sleigh through the night skies, with every reindeer pulling this magical means of transportation also appearing just as pleased as their master. The constipated expressions which had previously been upon every animal's muzzle had changed into very relieved looks, and Rudolph's red nose was blazing like a torch. Announcing in his loudest tone which sent icicles shivering throughout the entire neighborhood, Santa benignly rumbled, "Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!"

Back in the alley, Spike wasn't so happy, what with this enraged vampire staggering around screaming in fury while attempting to scrape off what now completely covered every inch of his body. He was at the moment totally sober, and not the least bit glad of this, despite discovering the what might have been the quickest cure ever for drunkenness. Not that it'd be easy to find other volunteers to investigate this potential for instant sobriety, since it was unlikely anyone besides an extremely unlucky vampire would actually want to be drenched by fifty pounds of reindeer shit.


End file.
