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.
The unfortunate encounter with the blacksmith has not gone well... for anyone. How will Dracula react? See what's happening in this week's chapter of Dracula. Don't forget to visit the other Briefers and see what's happening with them. Their links follow my tale! Enjoy!
The
three figures froze, as if trapped in a horrible tableau. Nobody said a word.
And then Bogdan’s wail tore through the unnatural silence as swiftly as his
knife had pierced his wife’s heart.
“Doina!
I didn’t mean—” he blubbered. “It’s not my fault!” He grabbed for the knife, but Dracula was
faster. He angrily shoved the man aside. The blacksmith collapsed in a sobbing
mess as the vampire turned his attention to the wounded wife.
“Foolish
woman,” he chastised her softly, but without malice. He might not love her, but
he would never wish her harm. Their time together had been pleasant. Sometimes,
after they’d had sex, he would listen to her speak of her husband and her life
with him. He was not surprised that she should wish to stray from her marriage,
considering the treatment she received from both him and his mother. Even so, she
should never have thrown herself between them. He would have been fine without
her intervention. She, on the other hand… He’d seen enough death in his long
lifetime to know this wound was fatal and she must surely die. He sank to the
floor and gently cradled her head in his lap to protect her from the cold stone,
safe from the view of her murderous husband.
She
smiled at him, her love for him shining through her eyes even as her very
lifeblood drained away, staining her white dress a deceptive scarlet hue, as
though someone had spilled a glass of red wine upon her at dinner. “I love you,
my lord. I would…”
But
whatever she intended to say remained unspoken as she struggled for
breath. Crimson streams bubbled from her
mouth, over her lips. She grasped his arm, as if attempting to cling to him,
even if just for a moment longer. But then her grip suddenly relaxed. Her body
shuddered once and stilled.
Dracula
turned furious eyes to the sniveling blacksmith. The idiot was moaning and
groaning to himself, rocking back and forth, as if seeking solace in his own
embrace. “Useless woman,” he muttered. “Who will take care of Mother and me
now? Stupid bi—”
“How
dare you!” Dracula roared as the blacksmith flinched in the face of his
anger. “You kill your wife, who did nothing to harm you, who did her best for
you in every possible way, and then you have the temerity to whine about who
will take care of you and your damned mother?”
He laid
Doina’s body gently upon the floor, carefully removing the blade from her
silent breast, wiping her blood upon his breeches. The fury of long-dead
ancestors burned inside of him. He’d heard stories of his grandfather many
times removed, Vlad Dracula, and the cruelties he’d inflicted. And while
Nicolae himself had had occasion to kill men during his hundred and fifty years
of life, never had he felt the desire to torture someone such as he wanted to
inflict pain upon the blacksmith. Only a modicum of common sense, and Avram’s
voice in his head warning him that would not be a good idea, restrained him.
“Did
nothing? Did nothing?” The blacksmith had stopped sniveling, his voice
rising in indignation as he stared stupidly at the enraged vampire, his wounded
vanity vying with his fear and overcoming it. “She lay with you, did she not?
She betrayed me, betrayed our marriage bed. She deserved to die.” His voice had
hardened, perhaps emboldened because Dracula had made no move to harm him.
Yet.
So now
he was attempting to justify his actions? Foolish mortal. He would soon learn
otherwise. Dracula knew he could snap his thick neck with one twist, but that
would not give him the satisfaction he sought. The man did not deserve any such
consideration. Dracula struggled to quell
the urge to violence that threatened to overtake his reasoning. He had once
mentioned to an acquaintance in Paris, a French author, that revenge is a dish
best served cold. How best to prolong the blacksmith’s demise? Perhaps by
drawing upon tales of the Impaler as inspiration?
He'd
never impaled anyone before, but there was no time like the present, was there?
He
gently lifted Doina’s body and laid it upon the pew they had so recently
occupied. Then he turned his full attention to Bogdan. Just to scare the man,
as he had no intention of biting him, Dracula grinned, deliberately allowing
his canines to drop into view. Bogdan paled at the sight.
“You
are… you are strigoi?” he stammered.
“I am
strigoi,” the vampire confirmed. “And I am a descendant of ruler of Wallachia
as well. I suppose you have heard of Vlad Dracula?” He strode menacingly toward
the blacksmith, who began to tremble before the reality of his situation.
“He died
a long time ago. And you are not him.”
Dracula
knew he was bluffing. Far from being brave, he could smell that the man had
soiled himself in his fear. And he
hadn’t even begun yet…
He stood
above the blacksmith, contemplating his options. “Would you like to hear some
stories about my forebear?” he asked in a deceptively calm voice. Not waiting for an answer, he continued. “One
time the Turkish ambassadors came to pay their respects. But they did not
remove their turbans. And when he asked them why they did mot, they said they
could not, as they were not permitted to do so. Then let me assist you with
that, he said, and had their turbans nailed to their heads so they would no
longer have to worry about removing them.”
Bodgan’s
eyes widened as he clutched at his head, but the fool wore no hat.
“Obviously,
that does not apply to you,” Dracula said blithely. “But there are other
things—”
A noise
from outside drew his attention. Someone was coming.
If it
were done when ‘tis done, then ‘twere well it were done quickly.”
He
plunged the dagger into the blacksmith’s evil heart.
to be continued
Now go see what the other Briefers are up to!
No comments:
Post a Comment