Nothing can kill me, because I’m invincible. Not even firebombs or escaped convicts.
Only a few things can cause the death of a vampire. For instance, sunlight: that’s about as bad as it can get. Also, a wooden stake whose hilt is a crucifix.
Hmm, what else . . . Pardon me while I address my wife. “Madeleine, dear, can you think of any other vampiric lethalities that I might be blanking on?”
“Garlic,” she says.
Oh, and now I also remember that silver bullets have been rumored to work. And darts dipped in holy water.
I guess, as well, you could throw away the key to my coffin while I’m still inside — although I wouldn’t expire, it would prevent me from being able to climb out and bite anyone.
Additionally, decapitation with an ax will do the trick. But you must then burn my severed head in a fireplace. And it won’t work unless you stand there and watch the entire skull turn to ash — which is harder than you’d think, because it always happens that, while my face is on fire, at a certain point, due to the heat, both of my eyelids pop open, so that I seem to be staring at you.
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