DeLillo’s Count Chocula
We think Bram Stoker, Bela Legosi, Transylvania. Dark, foreboding castles. Coffins, fangs, mirrors without reflections. Bats flying in moonlight, creating archetypal shadows. Punctured necks and heaving bosoms. The townspeople assemble, demand vengeance.
“To kill the vampire,” the mayor says. “To return to normal.”
“Humans versus monsters,” agrees the blacksmith.
A bar wench says, “The destruction the different. The restoration of the status quo.”
The burlapped mob, moving as one body, winds up the mountain. A crowd, a mass, a flock. They arrive armed with pitchforks and burning torches; garlic and holy water; crosses and sharpened stakes. Talismans of a long dead science.
The monster is defeated, as monsters are. Screams, curses, blood. The sad, victorious dawn.
And now this chocolately cereal. Crunchy, with marshmallows.