For a record 14th consecutive year, Dal
Ferguson, 56, will be dressing as a vampire
for Halloween. His family has begun to
question his lack of costume flair, but
coworkers are secretly wondering if he is,
in fact, a vampire:

“Every yeat, Dal gets so excited as
Halloween nears,” fellow Sears sales-man-
ager Les Hodgkiss, 55, said. “He says it’s
his favourite holiday, and he encourages
everyone to dress up for work. It’s a fun
day that we all look forward to, but
nobody gets as excited as Dal. Then, every
year, he shows up as a vampire.”

“It’s totally disappointing, and now it’s
getting almost creepy.”

Brenda Hendricks, 52, works with
Ferguson in the home-furnishing depart-
ment at the Langley store, and confirmed
that rumours have begun to circulate
about his vampirism.

“The widow’s-peak hairline, the late
hours doing inventory, his insatiable thirst
for Bloody Marys—we're starting to think
that Halloween is more of a coming-out
party for him. I love him and all—he’s a
great boss—but seriously buddy, would it
kill you to go as a ghost?”

Ferguson’s family strongly denies that
the father of two is in any way a night
crawler, though they do acknowledge the

Spawn of Evil

whole “vampire act” is wearing thin. Wife
Pat Ferguson, 51, is especially bored with
Ferguson’s Halloween tradition.

“His fake blood has ruined three
dresses, two blouses, a set of bed sheets,
and almost every costume of mine over
the past decade. And since he’s gone grey,

Qcetaber 27/2004

 

Count Dal Ferguson

the pillowcases have to be thrown out
every year from all that black dye he puts
in his hair. That crap doesn’t come out,
you know.”

Ferguson first donned the cape and
fangs for a dinner party in 1990, after an
unsuccessful two-year stint as a clown.

“Nobody was digging the clown outfit,
and someone mentioned that I’'d make a
good vampire—I was drinking a lot of
Bloody Marys back then—so I tried it out
and people responded,” Ferguson said by
telephone on Saturday.

“But it’s not like I go as a vampire
every year. Sometimes I go as Dracula,
maybe Bella Lugosi. And one year I went
as a bloodsucking lawyer, but that was
more of a social commentary thing.”

According to Ferguson, there is a trick
to making a good vampire or Dracula.

“Tt’s all in the details,’ he said. “Some
people are content with a cape, fake fangs,
and a white shirt, but there’s so much
more you can do. For instance, you can’t
be a vampire without a medallion. Dracula
was an elegant vampire with refined tastes
and styles. You’ve got to show that, and a
gold medallion hanging from a ted
Christmas ribbon does nicely.”

“Next, you’ve got to have great hair. I
had great hair until the kids came along,
but now I use some black dye for colour
and mousse for styling. I slick it right back
to accentuate my savage widow’s peak—I
was made to play Dracula.”

“And don’t forget a comb for touch-
ups,” he added. “Or white face paint and
fake blood. Fake blood rules and you can
never have enough. One year, I put two
dots on my wife’s neck with blood trick-
ling down, like I’d just bitten her. I think it
enhanced the overall effect.”

Be vive 1e sae we wD cant

50 Branden “The Butcher” Fergusan, Fake News Editor

Not so, according to Pat.

“It wasn’t one year, it was every year.
And every year he’d be sucking at my
neck—which actually wasn’t so bad, real-
ly.”

Suggestions to change costumes were
received poorly when given, and weren’t
given at all after Ferguson came to his
daughter’s class dressed as a nerd.

“Tt was grade 7, and it was the middle
of the day, and in walks Dad wearing a
plaid jacket and brown pants that were
way too short, with a bowtie, pocket pro-
tector, and huge nerd glasses,” recalled
Devon Ferguson, 23. “He was talking all
nasally and asked if his girlfriend was
there, before coming up and hugging all
ovet me.”

“T mean, I was happy that he’d dressed
up as something else,” she added, “but I
wasn’t happy that he came to school and
showed me. It was the most embarrassing
thing ever.”

Although she feels much shame over
her father’s predictable costume, she does
not believe the rumours that Ferguson is
an actual vampire. “That’s crap,” she said.
“Tt’s just the result of some bad blood at
work.”

Former night watchman, Bruce Yule,
45, was the first gossiper to claim that
Ferguson was among the army of the
dead, a claim that—in conjunction with
his heavy boozing—led to his dismissal.

“T was out prowling the parking lot,
looking for creeps prowling the parking
lot, when I seen him,” Yule said from the
safety of a church basement, wearing a
necklace of garlic cloves and holding a
crucifix. “It was Halloween night, 2001,
and the moon was full. I saw it clear as a
bell from 50 feet away.”

What Yule saw that night haunts him
still.

“He was standing by some bushes just
after the staff party, and he was eating a
squirrel, sucking the poor critter of all its
blood. It was some sort of vampire ritual

 

or something. He turned around with a
crazed look in his eye like he was pos-
sessed. Then he starts puking blood right
in front of me. It was a warning or some-
thing, like I was next.”

Ferguson recalled it differently.

“T was drunk, went outside with a hot
dog, and threw up. It’s that simple. I
thought the bread would absorb the
booze, but no luck. And it’s not like Bruce
should talk—he drank me under the table
that night, while he was on duty.”

For now, Ferguson feels content with
his vampire and Dracula costume rota-
tion, and sees no need for change.

“Vy should I change?” he asked
rhetorically with a Transylvanian accent,
preparing himself for the role he will
again play. “I’ve got the costume already
in the closet and I picked up a fresh bot-

 

The Count moves in on another victim

tle of blood yesterday, so ’m good to go.”

Asked if he meant fake blood,
Ferguson’s accent falters.

“Yes...yes...fake blood is what I got,
yes...,” he stammered, before regaining
his accent and composute. “I got the fake
blood for the costume, but for dinner. ..I
vant to suck your blood.”

Oe eG

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