One day I was thinking about vampires and it struck me – what if there was a vampire who played baseball? He would of course be an umpire, or “vumpire.” And then my mind started wandering. Deep in the woods, there’s a clearing where a bunch of creeps hang out in the summer…
“I got second base!” yelled Bob the goblin. The little guy ran out to his favorite spot. He resembled a pimply prune with the addition of a bulbous nose, beady black eyes, and stinky little feet. He liked second base because his short arms didn’t have to throw far to the first baseman.
Magnus the vumpire glided to his usual place behind home plate. His fangs shone bright in the moonlight. All he could think about was blood, but he’d signed up for the monster baseball summer league after his girlfriend insisted he get some exercise to get rid of that tub around his waist. He was only 200 years old but damn, did age catch up quick. Weren’t vampires supposed to be ageless? How come he had to be the exception?
An ugly old witch hobbled over to the vumpire and swept off home plate with her broom. She then pulled on her catcher’s mask and planted a squat in front of him.
A slimy purple creature with a mass of tentacles and two heads was on deck. It screeched, “Someone grab me a bat!” A zombie approached him with a live, squeaking bat. “Not that kind of bat, you idiot! Where are your brains?”
“Mmm, brains…” the zombie mumbled. A crusty piece of flesh fell off his leg as he shuffled back to the dugout.
Frankenstein took first base. “He has more stitches than a baseball!” giggled Digby the demon to the ghost floating beside him. They took their places at third base and center field.
A mummy took left field. He did a few stretches and then tucked in some of his wrapping which had come loose.
A werewolf ran out to right field where he stopped and gave a long, chilling howl. A gargoyle flew over to shortstop, and the batter, a hairless sasquatch, stepped up to the plate. He had always been self-conscious about how hairy he was, so one day he shaved it all off and never looked back. Besides, all the ladies seemed to enjoy it. He looked ahead, stopped, and scratched his head.
“Wait, who’s pitching? No one’s on the mound…”
All the creatures hushed and you could hear whispers around the field.
“I am,” said a silky-smooth, sensual voice. A breathtaking succubus sashayed seductively to the pitcher’s mound.
“Oh, just PERFECT!” The sasquatch grumbled, and tried not to focus on her incredible physique. Eye on the ball, eye on the BALL, he chanted to himself.