The Vampire of Praile 

Marianna left the theatre, striding briskly across the road to the railway station, surrounded by her bodyguards. She stepped up and into her private railway car, slamming the door. Her bodyguards took up their positions on the train and it began to crawl, slowly gaining speed until it chugged along at a steady place through the open country.  

Marianna settled onto the black leather couch and motioned for Timothy to take off her boots. He did so, and handed her a newspaper.  

“Hot off the press. They’re calling you ‘The Vampire of Praile.’” 

“Those bloody peasants! Do they think this is a democracy or something?” Marianna downed the glass of champagne that Timothy handed her, admiring the posh interior of the railway car. She had fought long and relentlessly for all this luxury, and she had learned the hard way that playing by the rules didn’t get you anywhere.  

Marianna read the article, laughing. 

The Vampire of Praile strikes again, sucking the happiness out of our citizens! 

“The Vampire of Praile… it has a certain ring to it. Not bad at all.”  

She would hardly call herself a vampire. A dictator, a cold hearted bitch maybe, but never a vampire. She had to admit; it had potential.  

They said she was evil for closing their theatres - how dare they? She knew very well that they were passing messages plotting her downfall through the theatres, and she was determined to stop them before they seeds of rebellion they planted could grow into plans. Besides, she hated theatres; her dear husband Gregory had died in a theatre. 

Or rather she had killed her dear husband Gregory in a theatre.  

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Gregory had always loved the theatre. Even as a boy. He had grown up wanting to be an actor, before he was drafted into the army at the age of 18. He had risen quickly through the ranks. Eventually, he took control of the army and became the dictator of Praile. He was only 26. A year later, she married him. They had been perfect for each other; he, the young and powerful dictator, she the beautiful daughter of one of his most trusted generals. How happy she had been then. But she was much happier now. 

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She motioned for Timothy to fill her champagne glass again. He hesitated a second, but wisely did not question her judgment. 

“Did you have any trouble closing the theatre?” 

“No more than usual,” Marianna replied. She found that people were generally pretty cooperative once they heard about the new decree: the punishment for resisting the closing of a theatre was death by firing squad.  

At that point she hadn’t found it necessary yet to enforce the decree, and had successfully closed down twenty theatres across the country. Marianna finished her glass, and put it down. She looked out the window at the passing scenery. Something was wrong. Very wrong. 

Marianna reached a hand out the window. She touched something – a screen. What was going on? Why was there a screen outside her window? Standing up, she stuck her head out the window, looking farther outside. She could see that neither the train nor the screen were moving, but were on some kind of black platform. Grabbing the champagne bottle off the table, she gulped down the rest. 

“What the hell is going on here, Timothy?” 

Timothy smiled vaguely at her. “All the world’s a stage ma’am.” 

Marianna began to feel sick. She sat back down shakily. She would just rest for a moment, and then she would go see why the train had stopped, and why there was a screen outside. Timothy’s words danced around her pounding head. “All the world’s a stage… That’s what Gregory used to say.”  

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As Gregory began to rediscover the theatre, it seemed to grow on him more and more. Eventually he insisted that she join him once a week for the performance of a play in their private auditorium. Eventually, one play a week turned into many, and a hobby became an obsession. He began to love the theatre more than he loved her. Even worse, he began to get weak. 

His officials would come in and report peasants stirring up trouble, suggesting that a democracy would be better for the country. Gregory would sigh, and tell the generals to pay them off. Pay off pathetic trouble-making peasants? The old Gregory wouldn’t have done that. The old Gregory would have had them killed. As his weakness continued, rumours began to circulate that some of his generals were planning a revolt. She had had to do something. 

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Marianna shoved herself up out of the chair unsteadily, her head spinning. Before her eyes, the wall of the train opposite the window seemed to disappear. She blinked, and looked out into an enormous room. She could make out a few chairs at the front, but the bright light of the train compartment made it hard to see anything farther than a few feet away. She carefully stepped down out of the train, and stood on the black platform, which she could now see was made of wood. 

“Marianna…” Timothy called.  

She ignored him, going to the edge of the platform and stepping down. She walked towards the chairs and realized they were in rows. Marianna touched the first row, and as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she could see that there were many more rows of chairs, set higher and higher up. It was only then that she realized that she was in a theatre. Her heart pounding, she screamed, and her scream was amplified eerily by the perfect acoustics.  

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It had been obvious really. Killing him was the only thing she could do. The plan was perfect, and promised instantaneous action. During one of the weekly performances that Gregory had grown so obsessed with, she had excused herself to go to the washroom, and had gotten out a blade there. She came back and snuck up on Gregory, slitting his throat quietly. They always had their own private box at the theatre so she needn’t worry about anyone seeing her. She watched, fascinated, as the blood drained slowly from his body, trickling across his opera suit. She put a hand over his mouth, and held his hands behind his back, as his squirming got less and less urgent, until eventually it stopped. Marianna tilted his head back, and his lifeless eyes stared back at her. He was dead.  

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Marianna began to panic now, her usually calm disposition giving way to a knowing fear. How had she ended up in a theatre? One minute she’d been on the train headed for the next town and suddenly she was here. How? Why? She gasped. It was him – Gregory, his revenge for what she had done to him. She spun around, peering into the darkness. There- she was sure she had seen his face, laughing cruelly at her from among the velvet covered seats.  

“Leave me alone Gregory!” Her shriek was tinged with hysteria.  

Timothy jumped up from his seat. “Marianna! Adrianne! Calm down!” 

She pushed him away, almost sobbing with fear. Gregory was here; he was coming for her. She knew what she had to do. Marianna ran back up to the railway car, and pulled open the drawers, searching desperately, until she found it- a knife. She hesitated only a moment, long enough to imagine what kind of twisted death Gregory would have in mind for her, and then plunged the dagger into her chest, and her neck, again, and again, until the agony was too much. She collapsed in a pool of spurting blood, and screamed a final time. 

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Actress Killed in Deadly Dress Rehearsal 

Adrianne Marshall, the actress set to play Marianna Murphy, the famous dictator and title role in Sunshine Theatre’s upcoming production of “The Vampire of Praile,” died in hospital at 4:00 am this morning of self-inflicted wounds. 

Adrianne and fellow cast member, Brian Jones arrived at the theatre at 9pm last night, to go over a scene in time for the opening of the show next week. “Adrianne was a method actress,” says Mr. Jones “That means rather than imagine what a character would do in a situation; she imagines that she is the actual character, and that the scene is really happening.” 

Method acting is a quite common form of acting, and is usually harmless. However, according to sources, Adrienne had consumed alcohol prior to going to the theatre, and had some while actually in the theatre. The combination of alcohol and intense concentration on her character is believed to be the cause of the actress’s death; her character, Marianna Murphy was famous for her hatred of the theatre.  

Mr. Jones says they were about halfway through a scene, when Adrienne started seeing things, and acting “strange”. He says he was alarmed, but the director had told the cast not to pay attention to Ms. Marshall if she got carried away in her acting. He says he tried to stop her, but was too late. More on page A5