#gregorposting

today's gregor samsa is: Wrestling in the sands of Vulcan

Boudreaux, Louisiana – Population: 2,217 (plus one timeless anomaly, still on payroll).

The first thing Amanda Hartley did when she arrived in town was light a cigarette, despite the suffocating July heat. The second was squint at the 7-Eleven sign like it had personally insulted her mama.

"Well," she drawled, flicking ash out the window of the van, "this here's where the reports say it lives."

Behind the wheel, Thomas adjusted his baseball cap and checked his notes. “You mean ‘he,’ right? The vampire’s name is Gregor. Been managing this place since 1975. Never seen in daylight. No shadow. ‘Garlic aversion’, whatever that means. No mirror reflection. Smiles like he wants to devour you?”

Miss Hartley snorted. “Sugar, you ain’t never met a real vampire, have ya? Real ones are slick. Smooth-talkers. Look just like the fella at your church who always brings deviled eggs.”

Thomas frowned. “But the local stories—”

“Exactly. Folks know about him. Means he ain’t it.”

He opened his mouth to protest again, but Hartley was already climbing out. She smoothed her vintage bomber jacket, tucked the stake deeper into her belt, and nodded toward the automatic doors.

“Well,” she said, “let’s go meet the local mascot.”

Inside, it was ice-cold and smelled of hot dogs, citrus cleaner, and haunted vanilla. Gregor stood at the counter, sorting receipts with the precision of a tax accountant and the posture of a man who hadn’t blinked since the Carter administration.

He looked up.

“Velcome to seven-elev—” he paused, then corrected himself slowly, “—Welcome... to seven-eleven. May I offer you a discount taquito? Today only, vith purchase of Red Bull or Monster.”

Thomas tensed. That accent alone made his ears twitch.

Miss Hartley, on the other hand, lit up like someone just handed her a free funnel cake at the state fair.

“Oh, honey,” she said, smiling, “you’re just precious.”

Gregor bowed stiffly. “Thank you. I was cast once as innocent victim in community theater. Very believable.”

She leaned on the counter, real easy. “Mind if we ask you a few questions, sugar?”

“I have answers. Especially if they are... store-related.”

Thomas eyed the wall behind him. A whole row of “Employee of the Month” photos. All Gregor. Same expression. Year after year. Like a low-budget horror movie.

“Have you,” Thomas asked slowly, “ever bitten a customer?”

Gregor blinked. “Only vith coupons.”

Hartley laughed, full-bellied.

Thomas, not amused, pressed on. “No reflection in the mirror?”

Gregor leaned forward. “I am too clean for reflection. The glass fears my purity.”

“Your… uh, garlic aversion?”

Gregor’s eye twitched. “Ah. Yes. Stench too strong. Ve do not speak of it. But I assure you—vampirism? Ridiculous.”

He gestured toward the security monitors. “See? My image. Right there.”

Gregor appeared on screen... but shimmered. Like the camera wasn’t entirely convinced he existed.

Thomas narrowed his eyes.

Miss Hartley bought a taquito combo.

Over the next couple of days, they asked around town.

Everyone said the same thing: Gregor? He’s harmless.

“He gave me a ride to the hospital when my hip gave out,” said an old woman.

“He remembered my cat’s name three years after I told him,” said the pharmacist.

“He personally swept the parking lot after prom night,” said the sheriff’s niece.

“Sure, he’s spooky,” one man whispered. “But spooky ain’t illegal.”

Thomas was losing patience.

“He sleeps in the storage closet!” he hissed as they peeked through the back door.

Hartley shrugged. “Rent’s high. Maybe he’s just economical.”

“He hissed at an Italian family.”

“They had a lot of cologne on, Tommy.”

“He called Diet Coke a ‘lifeblood substitute.’”

“Shoot, so do I.”

“Miss Hartley—he drinks red smoothies that smell like rust!”

She raised an eyebrow. “Look, if you want to crucify a man for drinkin' tomato juice with flair, I think you’re gonna have a rough time in Louisiana.”

Then the thing in the woods showed up.

Fast. Hungry. Bad-tempered.

Someone’s dog went missing. Trees split like toothpicks. And tourists reported “something howling” out by the marsh.

Thomas and Hartley went hunting.

By the time they tracked it down—a snarling, lanky mess with glowing red eyes and a craving for domestic animals—it was already beat.

Pinned to the dirt with a trash lid, mop handle jammed through its shoulder.

Gregor stood over it, pale and poised, not a hair out of place.

“Oh,” he said coolly, “you arrived.”

Hartley blinked. “You... took it down?”

“Yah. Tried to eat Ms. Corvin’s feline. Unacceptable.”

Thomas stared. “You weren’t scared?”

Gregor gave the monster a nudge with his foot. “It broke into the hot dog aisle.”

Hartley stared a moment. Then started chuckling. “Well, I’ll be damned. He really ain’t a vampire.”

Once the monster was in the van—tied down, tranquilized, snoring faintly—Thomas turned to her, flabbergasted.

“So... Gregor is definitely a vampire, right?.”

“Oh, baby,” she said, exhaling smoke. “He was always a vampire.”

“What?” He gasped. “Then why didn’t we—?”

“He’s Gregor,” she said, like that explained everything.

As they drove off, Gregor waved with a Slurpee cup in hand, lit by the blue glow of the open sign behind him.

“Come again soon!” he called. “Fresh donuts on Thursdays! If sun not out!”

And just like that, Boudreaux went back to normal.

the way gregor had been supporting and taking care of his entire family

and then gregor is unable to work, and with ALL THREE of them working, they're like, "there's no way we can keep taking care of him, it's too much."

i have amazing news

im fucking thriving