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 has been interrupted in the midst of his tryst with the blacksmith's wife by none other than the blacksmith himself. This can't end well, can it? See what's happening in this week's chapter of Dracula. And don't forget to visit the other Briefers and see what's up with them. Their links follow my tale! Enjoy!
“You’re not Doina!” The blacksmith appeared to be
baffled, as if by simply crying out his wife’s name she and she alone would
appear before him.
“Your powers of observation are astounding,” Dracula
replied caustically. He vaulted gracefully over the top of the pew and took up
a defensive stance in the church aisle, facing the blacksmith. He assumed that
his paramour would have the common sense not to show herself and would remain
out of sight where she was. To show herself would be the opposite of having a
clandestine meeting. Besides which, admitting to adultery wasn’t a great idea
for either of them, but most especially for her. “I am certainly not your wife.
And now that we have agreed on that, your presence in this place is no longer
required so begone.” He waved one
manicured hand in a shooing motion.
The man’s brow furrowed, as if he were still trying
to make sense of the situation. Considering where he spent most of his
evenings, he was undoubtedly intoxicated. Even when sober, he was no great
thinker, so how could one expect any more of him when he was clearly in his
cups.
“But the old woman said…” Bogdan shook his head, as
if attempting to clear it.
Dracula narrowed his eyes. Old woman? What old woman
and what had she said? One possibility came to mind, but he pushed the thought
aside to be dealt with at another time.
“I said begone!” he bellowed, his patience
having finally reached an end.
As if something had just occurred to him, Bogdan
pointed one accusatory finger at Dracula. “Who are you and why are you here?
And why do you wear such ridiculous clothes?”
Such an addlepated gollumpus. How dare he insult
anyone’s sartorial taste, much less Dracula’s, when the blacksmith clearly had
all the fashion sense of a dead cow while the vampire had his clothing custom
made at great expense. “I am your better is who I am! And you are no one! You
should kneel in my presence, you stupid peasant.” The nobleman was becoming
flustered by this fool’s inability to do what he was told, although if he thought
about it, kneeling at his feet wouldn’t exactly get him out of the church,
which was his immediate goal.
“You sound as big a twit as that bastard in the
castle.” Rather than kneel, Bogdan apparently had decided to stand his ground,
not having the sense to be afraid of the man before him, and not having the intelligence
to realize who he must be. He crossed his arms across his broad chest and
glared at him defiantly, having momentarily forgotten his purpose in coming to
the church.
And for the moment, so had Dracula. Until he heard
an unexpected voice from behind him.
“Do not insult him. Dracula’s a better man than you
are, Bogdan. And much kinder.” Doina had left the refuge of the pew. Now she stood
by Dracula’s side, her arm linked through his, his presence no doubt giving her
the courage to defy her husband in this way, when normally she was the meekest
of women. Her words took him by surprise. He was unsure in what way she thought
he’d been kind to her, as that had certainly never been his intention, but of
course she was correct in recognizing him to be the superior man. That fact had
never been in dispute.
Dracula gave the woman a critical glance, hoping
she’d had the presence of mind to pull her skirt back into place and was
gratified to find that she had. Wouldn’t want to give her husband the wrong
idea as to what they’d been doing. Although her dress was as it should be, one
glance at her kiss-swollen lips, lust-glazed eyes, and wanton expression left
little doubt as to the nature of their interrupted activities. Not that it mattered
if he were being honest with himself. Their very presence together here, alone
and unchaperoned, was more than enough reason for her husband to entertain
suspicions toward his wife. How could he expect the villagers to think any
differently.
Damn. This was not the
way he’d anticipated spending this evening. He could just picture the smug
expression on Avram’s face when he learned of what occurred here. The
self-satisfied grin as he said Didn’t I tell you this would happen? Better
you should have listened to me.
Dracula grimaced. He suspected he would have to blur
this idiot’s memory before he could allow him to leave. This might be a good
time to sever his connection with the woman as well, erase himself from her
consciousness. Fun was fun, but this fun had apparently run its course.
All the color had drained from the blacksmith’s
face. His mouth hung open in stunned disbelief as he stared between his wife
and the other man, trying to make sense of what he was hearing.
“Doina, what are you saying? Haven’t I been a good
husband to you? Ask anyone in the village, they will tell you. How could you do
this to me”—he gestured toward Dracula with one meaty hand—with…with this?”
Far from being insulted, Dracula didn’t know whether
to laugh or to feel sorry for this poor fool. So he did both, which helped
nothing, as now the blacksmith’s temper had returned, and so had realization.
“You are him,” he cried indignantly. “You are that
twit in the castle. The one Avram works for.” He spat on the ground in open
contempt. “The others…they’re afraid of you. But not me. You are nothing
compared to me.”
‘Go away, little man,” Dracula hissed. “You have no
idea what I am capable of and you do not want to know.”
Without warning, Bogdan leapt at the vampire. In his
raised hand, he held a knife. Dracula had no reason to fear, but he didn’t
calculate on Doina throwing herself before him, taking the full force of theblow.
to be continued
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