Good morning and Happy Hump Day! If it's Wednesday, then it must be time for more flash fiction from the Wednesday Briefers! We're a group of authors who bring you our finest flash fiction every week, 500 to 1000 words, inspired by one of our prompts.
Dracula is off to church - but not to worship! He is meeting a married woman there, with whom he has been having relations. That won't be a problem, will it? See what's happening in this week's chapter of Dracula. Don't forget to visit the other Briefers and see what's up with them. Their link follow my tale! Enjoy!
Compared
to other Orthodox churches throughout Romania, the church in Bistritz was
smaller and less elaborate. Built of stone during the thirteenth century, it
lay on the outskirts of the village, and served as the town’s spiritual center
until a second church was built some years later, nearer to the town center.
The villagers referred to the original church as the Old Church, while the
newer edifice was simply the Church. The Old Church was unusual in that pews
had been installed, a feature not common in traditional Orthodox churches, as
it was considered disrespectful for people to sit during sermons. Dracula’s
ancestors had graciously donated the pews for not altogether altruistic
motives—namely their own comfort. The first pews had been built from sturdy
European beech, which was plentiful in the area. But sometime after the
Americas were begun to be colonized, the Dracula family had replaced two of the
beech benches—the ones closest to the altar, naturally—with seats made of
beautiful Brazilian rosewood. The villagers were impressed with the
reddish-brown color of the expensive wood, which contained streaks of a darker
chocolate brown. It was tacitly understood that anyone could avail themselves
of these pews, but when the family was in attendance, their presence took
precedence. Nobody complained. Not surprising, considering the reputation the
family had even then, which only grew darker and more sinister over the years.
No one wanted to be on their bad side.
Now Count
Dracula was the last of the lineage and he had lost his faith in religion many
years ago. The last time he’d attended a mass or made confession was well
before any of the present residents were even born, and probably several
generations before them. But he remembered the beautiful pews with fondness,
and he remembered that they were always well cared for. He therefore had no
hesitation in availing himself of them while desecrating them with carnal
knowledge of the blacksmith’s wife. Access to the church was easy, as the
parish priest, Father Gunther, never locked the building, believing it should
be kept available to everyone at all times. During the evenings, the good
father—when he wasn’t tending to the members of his flock— was generally to be
found at the local alehouse, downing pints with the other villagers, and having
a generally good time, blissfully oblivious to what was happening behind his
back in his church.
Dracula
paused just outside the door of the church and listened. Only one heart beat
inside. Not surprising, as their trysts heretofore had always been
uninterrupted. He quietly pulled open the heavy oaken door. As a child, he had
once marveled at the images of the saints carved into the wooden panels, but he
no longer saw them, having long ago grown enured to them. Tonight he was intent
on what lay inside—the church as a place of worship no longer held any interest
for him.
He
passed swiftly through the narthex—the vestibule of the church, where
worshippers would commonly pause to refocus their energies on matters of the
spirit as well as to light a candle—and then on into the nave. He spied her at
once, kneeling before the altar in the position of a supplicant, head bowed and
hands clasped before her as if in prayer. She had lit several candles in
anticipation of his arrival. The flames flickered in the eternal draft that blew
through the church like an ill wind. He noticed she’d worn her best fota
for him, one he’d seen several times before. The white wool wraparound skirt
decorated in elaborate geometrical designs in red and blue concealed the
suppleness of the limbs beneath. On her head a white marama embroidered
with white designs covered her dark brown hair, so soft to the touch.
Foolish
girl.
Dracula frowned,
momentarily annoyed with her, perhaps because he’d told her more than once how
much he disliked such posturing before a non-existent deity. But her religious
upbringing was apparently too strong to be set aside, even for him, despite the
fact she was committing the cardinal sin of adultery within the very walls of her
god’s house of worship. Both ironic and erotic. He would have to remind her of
his wishes… but not right now. Such matters as his contempt for the church he
had once embraced could wait. His desire for her was stronger than his
displeasure. When he grew tired of her and ceased to want her, then he would
end the relationship and obliterate her memory of him. But, in the meantime…
He glided
smoothly down the aisle between the pews and reached her before she was even
aware of his presence. She gasped as he lifted her easily into his embrace and
carried her to the front pew.
“Draga
mea,” she murmured. My sweetheart.
“Floare
frumoasa,” he responded. Beautiful flower. He brushed his lips
lightly across hers and felt her quiver. He distributed small kisses upon her
cheeks before running his tongue along her jaw and around the sensitive outer
shell of her ear. She was very tactile and responded ardently to his every
touch as if she’d never been touched in that way before. Not surprising,
considering the brute she was wed to. In the brief time of their intimacy, he
had shown her pleasure such as she had never experienced before, and sadly
would never again, once he removed himself from her life.
With his
heightened senses, he could smell the tanginess of her arousal. She shifted
beneath him, her hand pressing against his hardness. She’d become rather bold
in letting him know what she wanted, and he was more than happy to give it to
her, although he was also careful not to spend himself inside of her. The last
thing he wanted was to procreate—with her or anyone else— knowing that any
child of his must of course be fated to die, and that would be a difficult
burden to bear.
to be continued
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