Last month I went home for the first time in a long while. It was the first time I’d been there since I started playing super tourist, pretty much the first time I’d ever played tourist there.
One of the things that I did was play “find the vampire grave” in Woodstock VT, a quaint town of quaintness about 45 minutes away from my sister’s house.
I grew up knowing, vaguely, that there was some sort of story about a vampire buried in their green. A New England note, all towns are centered around a green of some sort. The story I knew or thought I knew involved the “vampire” being dug up and buried in the crossroads with a stake in its heart and garlic in its mouth.