EXCERPT FROM "Stag Party"

My rental Jeep rode dangerously high into the ice-covered mountains as I struggled in vain to spy the ever-elusive Transylvanian snow wolf. I was told that it was only possible to spot them in the dead of winter, as in the summer they congregated at difficult to reach elevations. I was also told that my four-wheel drive would have no problem along the treacherous slopes. Perhaps I shouldn’t have listened to a travel agent whose English was barely as passable as the roads I now found myself along, but heck, I figured, what could go wrong?

Yeah, yeah, in hindsight maybe I should’ve turned back after I spotted the other three ditched cars and the Do Not Go Any Further signs, but I knew my hiking, hunting, and tracking skills would help me overcome whatever obstacles were thrown my way -- not that I could’ve guessed how bloody those obstacles were going to be.

Guess my hindsight needed a good eye exam, huh?

In any case, when the Jeep inevitably broke down, sputtering, wheezing and ultimately conking out with a gut-wrenching thud, I assumed, however incorrectly, that someone would eventually come looking for me. Then again, how was I to know that several someones were already looking? And waiting.

They appeared quite suddenly from out of a dense, white fog. Three of them. Tall with waxy complexions, slicked back black hair, black eyes dead as night, all of them dressed in black capes. Handsome motherfuckers, but scary as hell, too. I mean, it was way below zero and out in the middle of nowhere, with no houses, no cars, no nothing in sight. In other words, this wasn’t the welcome wagon that was coming out to greet me.

“Um, my Jeep, it, uh, died,” I stuttered, rolling down the window as they approached, more floating to my car’s side than walking.

“Died?” the one in the middle asked with just a hint of a devilish smile stretched wide across his alabaster face.

“Yes, it, um, died. I don’t suppose any of you can fix it?” I locked my door and rolled the window back up an inch or two.

Again the one in the middle spoke in a thick accent muddled with rolling syllables and truncated vowels. “No, friend, we don’t fix cars. But if you come with us, perhaps one of our brethren, I mean brothers, can help you.”

“Oh,” I said. “You’re brothers?”

“In a manner of speaking,” one of the others replied, the same wicked smile appearing and then just as quickly disappearing.

My heart skipped a beat as my breath caught in my chest. “No, I think I’ll stay here. The rental agency will come looking for me, and I should be here when they arrive.”

They laughed in unison -- laughs that rumbled through me like an avalanche. “Up to you, friend,” the third one said, “but they will not come this late at night. Only wolves roam these woods after dark.”

“And, of course, the three of you,” I corrected him, and then I coughed, both nervous and excited at hearing him mention wolves.

“On the way to a party, friend,” I was told. “You should come with us. There will be feasting and drinking. And safety from the elements. And the wolves.”

Despite the cold, a stream of sweat now cascaded down my brow. “No, I should stay, in case ...”

But I was interrupted. “It is a stag party, friend. You will enjoy it.” There was now an edge to his voice, sexy, bewitching.

I paused, and replied, “Stag party? You mean, all men?”

They nodded, again with their mischievous grins, and I gulped. A party of nothing but men, perhaps all as sexy as these three. Any maybe one of them could point me in the direction of the still unseen snow wolf. Instead, they pointed in the direction of their ample crotches. “Naked men, as is the tradition, friend.”

I unlocked the door and hopped out. “Well, it beats dying out here in the cold.”

They laughed as they helped me out of the Jeep. I can’t remember the walk, or the cold, or anything after that. One minute we were along the side of the road, the next we were approaching a massive, stone castle that towered high overhead. I chalked it up to rattled nerves and then entered the less-than-humble abode alongside them.

Seconds later, we were in an impressive ballroom full of men, all in capes, all impossibly handsome, and all staring at me like I was the last drumstick at a Thanksgiving dinner. And then, suddenly and jarringly, a gong was rung and a large cart was wheeled out with a dead deer carcass resting haphazardly atop it.

I whispered to one of the men standing next to me, “Um, is this the stag part of the stag party?”

He laughed and removed his cape. He was naked beneath it save for jet black boots. His body, long and lean, white as the driven snow and ripped with tight muscles, leaned into my own. “But of course,” he replied. And then, one by one, the others removed their capes, until the room was full of stark-naked men, all with impossibly perfect bodies and deathly white complexions.

In horror, and just a small bit of horny wonder, I watched as they approached the dead animal, their mouths agape, their canine teeth growing long and jagged, stretching into fangs that extended far out from their ghostly faces. “Vampires,” I whispered to myself with a sick groan that rumbled through my belly.