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.
Avram has gone into the village since Dracula is out and about, but he can't help but be worried that the vampire is being foolish. See what's going on in this week's chapter of Dracula. Don't forget to visit the other Briefers and see what's up with them. Their links follow my tale! Enjoy!
Avram shook
his head as he pushed open the heavy wooden door of the alehouse after leaving
his horse stabled nearby. An uneasy feeling had taken up residence in the pit
of his stomach. He wished Dracula wouldn’t take such risks just for sexual gratification,
particularly this close to home. And a married woman at that. What if the
husband found out? While he was sure the vampire could more than handle himself
in a fight, the ramifications of being outed would be detrimental to both of
them. Dracula may be on the immortal side, but he was neither invincible nor
invulnerable—given the right circumstances, he could be killed. At least Avram
didn’t have to worry that he was using this woman for her blood. That would be
disastrous indeed.
Sometimes
I think the man is just meshuggeneh.
He
glanced around him as he made his way across the room to the bar, as if he were
looking for someone. Most were faces familiar to him, lifelong residents of
Bistritz. He returned their greetings, albeit somewhat distractedly. Truth be
told he was searching for one face in particular. When he didn’t see him
immediately, a chill coursed up his spine. But then he heard a loud bray from
the far side of the room. He glanced over to spy a tall, broad-shouldered ape
of a man, seated at a table with a few of his friends. He seemed to be
entertaining them with an amusing tale from his undoubtedly limited repertoire.
Bogdan the blacksmith. Dumb but strong. Generally, he was known as a
good-natured fellow, but when it came to his pretty wife, he was said to
possess more than a small streak of jealousy. At least since he was currently
sitting here, he could be nowhere near Dracula’s vicinity. The whole group
seemed rather ferschnickered. None of them were likely to be going anywhere
soon, not in their drunken condition. Avram released a sigh of relief and
prayed that the vampire would take his pleasure and quickly leave the village.
“Would
you like some ale, Avram?”
Somewhat
mollified by the presence of the blacksmith, Avram turned his attention to the young
woman behind the bar whose father owned the establishment. Instinctively he
checked her neck for any sign that Dracula had been there, despite knowing the
vampire was dallying with another woman. Seeing nothing, he relaxed a little.
“Yes, please.”
She
poured him a tankard of ale and set it on the bar in front of him. “Looking for
someone?”
“No, no
one,” he assured her. Found someone he had but he wasn’t about to tell her
that. Turning slightly, he surveyed the room more carefully, deciding where he
should sit. He needed a vantage point from which he could watch Bogdan as well
as the door, in case the blacksmith developed the sudden urge to leave. He
couldn’t allow that to happen, at least not for a while.
The
large public area contained a dozen or so tables where villagers could spend their
free time, drinking ale and socializing with their neighbors. Simple iron
sconces dotted the larch wood walls to supplement the inviting fire that blazed
in the hearth, lending an air of comfort and warmth to the establishment. Avram
was familiar with most everyone he saw as visitors were not common in Bistritz,
usually tradespeople picking up or delivering trade goods from neighboring
towns. These tended to conduct their business during the day before hastening elsewhere.
Thanks to the infamy of some members of Dracula’s family, the area had
developed a sinister reputation, especially after dark. Outsiders tended to
stay away after nightfall, although the residents were not quite as wary. They
realized that the days of Vlad Dracula were long gone, and no one had been
impaled in many years. But even they weren’t so sure about some of the mythical
creatures said to roam about the countryside. Tales abounded of dragons and
ogres, werewolves and ghosts. And of course, the ever-popular strigoi,
also known as the vampire. Avram prayed the truth would never be discovered.
“Avram! My friend! Over here!”
As Avram
drew near, the priest shifted from one seat to another, leaving Avram a chair
that held a better view of the room. Father Gunther had known Avram since they
were both boys and knew, as did everyone in the village, who he worked for.
Despite the friendly faces, there were still those who eyed Avram with open
suspicion. Some went so far as to cross themselves in his vicinity, as if that
were protection against either him or Dracula. That was no more effective than
their use of the sign of the horns to ward off evil. But if the gesture was of
comfort to them, far be it from him to interfere with their peace of mind.
The
priest chuckled. “No, I sent them all to the new church. We have to keep Father
Damien employed, don’t we?” He raised his own mug and Avram followed suit. “To
your health, my friend.”
“L’chaim,”
Avram readily responded. To life.
to be continued
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