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.
While keeping an eye on the village blacksmith to keep him from finding out about Dracula and his wife, Avram converses with his friend, Father Gunther. But something isn't quite right and Avram knows it. See what's going on in this week's chapter of Dracula. Don't forget to visit the other Briefers and see what they're up to. Their links follow my tale! Enjoy!
Gunther
fell silent. Tendrils of anxiety wrapped about Avram’s heart. Why was it beating so fast? Something was wrong.
and whatever it was it was about to get worse. Someone dropped a glass, which
shattered, and he visibly flinched at the explosion.
This was no time to panic, and no time to
borrow trouble. He forced himself to take deep breaths. Maybe he should step
outside for a moment. He needed to think, but without all the noise. He glanced
across the room. Bogdan was still there. One less worry.
He
started to rise, but Gunther’s hand on his coat sleeve stopped him. His friend
leaned across the table, speaking in a low voice that necessitated Avram’s full
attention. “I’m afraid they’re beginning to talk, Avram.”
“Who is?
What do you mean?” He slid back into his chair and moved it closer, keeping a
suspicious eye on their nearest neighbors, although he didn’t think that’s who
he meant. Whatever Gunther was about to say, though, he knew it wouldn’t be
good.
The
tavern door blew open unexpectedly. Avram jumped again, then reprimanded
himself for his skittishness as one of the villagers entered and slammed it
shut behind him. All sound ceased for a split second. “Watch out for the stafi,”
the newcomer announced before joining Bogdan’s table.
Avram
shivered. Not because he believed in the Romanian equivalent of the Irish
banshee, but he knew these people did… and more. He turned his attention back
to Gunther.
“I mean
the people of the village. They notice things, some of them. Such as how young
Dracula looks. Still”
“How
young he looks? He is young,” Avram bluffed. “How old do you think he
is? Older than me, yes, but…” He gave up that losing argument before it was
even truly begun. Despite his many years of existence—Avram wasn’t even sure
how old the vampire was, to be honest—he looked to be no older than a man in
his thirties, while Avram was already forty.
A well-preserved forty, to be sure.
His lips
had turned suddenly dry. He picked up his ale and drank. How was he going to
explain this?
“Some of
the older people still remember his father and they say he looks exactly like
him.”
“Is that
surprising, that a son should look like his father?” Of course that wasn’t true. Dracula’s father
died centuries ago, none of them had ever seen him. And of course, Dracula
resembled his “father”, as he was both father and son. How else to explain his
many years as lord and master of the castle other than by changing his name on
a regular basis so the villagers would not suspect his actual longevity? His
ruse had worked for many ears. This was not good.
Calm
down and listen. He
lightly strummed his fingers across the brim of his hat on the table before him
and waited.
“Avram, you’ve
been my friend ever since we were little. I understand that you feel you owe
him a debt. He took you in after your parents died. He’s been like a father to
you, when most of the village turned its back on you.”
“Not
your parents,” Avram pointed out. “Or you. Your family has been nothing but
good to me. And things here have improved.” He ran one hand through his too
curly black hair, the bane of his existence. ”Mostly.” Some people could never
forgive him for being Jewish. “And yes,
I do owe Dracula my life. I don’t know how I would have survived without him.
So please can we have no more of this nonsense?” In his heart, Avram knew he
should hear more, learn what was being said. But he was suddenly more afraid
than before that something truly bad was about to happen and he could do
nothing to stop it.
“I don’t
want to see you get hurt because of him.” Gunther paused, as if searching for
the right words. What, was there something worse than what he’d already said?
Avram grew more apprehensive as silence stretched between them, until at last, the
words were spoken. “The old stories are being revived.”
Scheiss.
Avram
didn’t bother to ask which stories Gunther meant. He knew only too well.
“Old
wives’ tales, nothing more.” His lies fell limply onto the table between them
like wounded birds… or bats. Perhaps it
was time to go abroad. There were women in other countries who would love
nothing more than to see their favorite Count once more… women with money,
which they badly needed. Not to mention, there was a certain Parisian publisher
who was waiting for more material of the erotic kind that Avram wrote so well,
even if Dracula did take the credit for his writing. That was a practicality,
since it was easier to sell his books if people thought they were being written
by a mysterious handsome nobleman than by a Jew.
“I’ve
known you for a long time, Avram. You’re my best friend and I would do anything
for you. Are you in any danger?”
The
question caught Avram by surprise. Danger? Him? “From what?” His hand stilled
on the hat brim, his brow furrowed as he met his friend’s gaze.
“I think
you know what.” Gunther patted Avram’s hand. “You’re a good man, a very loyal
friend. I just worry for you, that’s all. Worried that you’ve given your
allegiance to someone who doesn’t deserve it.”
Avram
forced a chuckle he was far from feeling. “I appreciate the sentiment, Gunther.
I think you are a good man too, perhaps a little naïve. I mean, to believe such
tales?” He clucked his tongue and shook his head, as if to dismiss the very
idea.
“What
are you saying about my wife?” An angry roar rose above the hubbub of the
alehouse. All heads turned toward the source of the disturbance. It was Bogdan,
who else?
Avram
had a bad feeling all hell was about to break loose.
to be continued
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