Wednesday Briefs: Dracula #13 (4.2)

 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!

Dracula #13 (4.2)

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!

Cia Nordwell

J Ray Lamb

  

 

Wednesday Briefs: Dracula #12 (4.1)

 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!

Dracula #12 (4.1)

“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

Now go see what's up with the other Briefers!

Cia Nordwell

J Ray Lamb