Saturday is Horror Day #212 - Amber Alert, Dracula Untold

 Amber Alert

Jaq (Hayden Panettiere) has an appointment she has to keep, but when the rideshare she arranged for is stolen out from under her, she is temporarily flummoxed. Just then another driver appears, dropping off his fare. She tries to engage him, but the driver Shane (Tyler James Williams) has places to go and things to do and he is off the clock. But Jaq persists until he reluctantly agrees to take her where she is going.

As they are driving, they each receive a notice on their cell phones of an Amber Alert, along with a 

description and picture of the car in question, but no plate. Jaq looks up to see a car like the one in the alert, just ahead of them. She asks Shane if he thinks that could be the one but he tells her that there are too many of that type of car in the whole city, it's not likely. As they approach a light, a large message lights up with the amber alert information, and the driver she had observed, suddenly pulls through the intersection, not waiting for the light. Jaq senses that this might be the guy the police are looking for and urges Shane to follow him. He does, albeit reluctantly, and they follow him to a gas station, where Shane points out that he just needed gas. The odd thing is that he leaves without ever getting gas... and the chase is on.

If you are a parent, this movie will hit close to home. One minute your child is there and the next they are gone. A stark reminder that there are predators in this world. Also, it's a reminder to trust your gut instincts, because that might be all you have to go on. Two strangers follow a man they think has kidnapped a child, not knowing if they are on a fool's errand or not. Sometimes it seems as though they might be being foolish. They have also blown off prior engagements to fight for a stranger's child... and yet they persist. I think this was a great testament to the fact that there are good people out there who are willing to fight for others, for the weak and helpless, for the children.

I did enjoy this film, and I'll admit Jaq made me cry at one point. I wasn't sure how the ending would play out, but I hoped for a happy and satisfying conclusion. Definitely worth watching. You may remember Hayden Panettiere from Heroes, where she played the cheerleader who was destined to save the world.  I'll give this film 4 Stars.

Dracula Untold

The kingdom of Transylvania is threatened by the Turks, and have been off and on for many years. The prince, Vlad (Luke Evans) was once a political prisoner of the Turks, where as a young boy he learned many things, including how to fight. Now he is a grown man who has a wife, Mirena (Sarah Gadon) and children he needs to protect against the Turks, led by their sultan, Mehmed (Dominic Cooper). While out with his men, Vlad discovers a place where Turkish troops were mysteriously slaughtered - and not by any of his troops. He discovers a cave that holds the secret of their demise, and barely escapes alive, keeping the knowledge of that cave to himself.

Not wishing to endanger his kingdom, Vlad negotiates a peace with the Turks, only to have his trust 

turned against him when the Turks demand he surrender 1000 young boys to them for their army - just the way his father had sacrificed himself and the other boys. Moreover, Mehmed demands Vlad's son, intending to raise him as his father had raised Vlad. That's the last straw. Vlad returns to the cave and the master vampire (Charles Dance) who resides there, determined to do whatever he needs to do to save his kingdom and his family.

Dracula Untold is actually an origin story, something to explain how Count Dracula of film and novel becomes the way it is. It's actually a romanticization that combines some actual history of Vlad Dracula, aka Vlad Tepes (the Impaler) with Bram Stoker's vampire. The film explains away his cruelties as a necessity to combat the Turks. To some degree, this is true. Vlad Dracula was held as a political captive while a boy, and was subjected to much cruel treatment, probably some sexual in nature, and he learned a lot about their methods of torture. Lessons he put to good user later in life. The film doesn't mention his younger brother, Radu the Handsome, who was also a captive, but was treated much nicer than Vlad. In fact, in later years, he had a relationship with the Turkish sultan. It's fair to say this did not endear him to his brother.

I thought Luke Evans did a great job as Dracula, playing him as a good husband and father and ruler.  I don't believe the original Vlad was necessarily a good husband, but he did care for his people. He also had a cruel streak, no doubt a result of his treatment by the Turks during his formative years. That being said, I liked that they tackled the origin story of the vampire and presented it in a realistic fashion. It was interesting to watch, and the ending hinted of a sequel. However, I am pretty sure that is off the table. But I still recommend this film, especially if you are a fan of Vlad and/or Dracula as I am. I am giving this film 4 Stars.

Wednesday Briefs: Dracula #34(7.4)

 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.

Unwilling to postpone their travels any longer than necessary, Dracula is about to reveal something perhaps he shouldn't. See what's happening 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!

Dracula #34 (7.4)

Avram jumped as a blue bolt of lightning flashed across the sky. Far too close for comfort, it was followed about five seconds later by the requisite thunder. This storm was practically upon them, the rain but a precursor to its fury. Avram was torn between taking Andrei and seeking shelter in order to keep him from seeing what was about to happen and witnessing that same event. While it was true he’d seen Nico display his talents many times over the years, that was a sight he never grew tired of.

The boat began to rock upon the turbulent river like a drunken sailor. Avram still clung to Dracula for balance on one side, Andrei on the other as the heavens showered cold sheets of rain upon them.

“Andrei, perhaps you should go below and make sure everything is fast,” he suggested. He was not surprised when the smuggler made no reply and made no effort to move. His attention was all for Dracula, who had shaken off Avram’s hand and sauntered toward the rail as easily if he were taking a casual stroll in the park.

Apparel oft proclaims the man, to quote the Bard.

Despite the workman’s clothes he wore, now thoroughly drenched, Nicolai cut an imposing figure, silhouetted against the angry sky. Sometimes Avram forgot just how powerful the vampire really was, since there was little need for such display in their everyday lives. But at moments such as these, Nico seemed to possess an almost visible aura, a stark contrast to the almost somnolent attitude he seemed to wear daily. As if life were too much effort for him, at least when they were at home.

Arms outstretched, he raised his hands, palms up, toward the sky. His eyes were closed, as if in concentration.

Avram’s attention was diverted to Andrei. The boatman grabbed his arm just as a gust of wind threatened to topple them both. The boat precariously rode the swell but made no effort to capsize, luckily. “What does he think he’s doing?”

Avram shook his head. He had no words for what was about to happen. Andrei would see for himself in just a moment.

Dracula’s lips were moving, his sonorous voice undulating in unintelligible waves despite the rising wind. Avram had no knowledge of what words were being spoken, or how Nico had come to learn them. He wasn’t even aware of how he had become what he was. But he knew whatever these words were, they possessed a power that emanated from Dracula himself. And he was greatly in awe of that power.

The waves slapped violently against the boat, both Avram and Andrei struggling to keep their feet. But Dracula remained unshakeable, as if anchored to the spot where he stood. He began to gesticulate with his hands, intricate gestures that appeared to be aimed at the storm itself.

Avram noticed the rain first. It began to lessen in intensity until it had entirely ceased to pour upon them. And yet, glancing toward either shore, he could see that rain continued to fall upon the land. As though sudden dispensation had been granted to the river. The very waves had calmed, and the boat no longer rocked. As if the boat had suddenly become a shelter from the storm that raged about them. Not only that, but the sail puffed out with a gentled wind that seemed to invite them to continue their journey.

Dracula turned to face them, his expression unreadable. “Time to go,” he said before he disappeared below deck. Avram wondered if he’d tired himself out with his impressive display. He turned to Andrei, whose mouth gaped open, soundless. But his eyes asked so much.

“He is special,” is all that Avram said as he helped his friend to get the boat under way once more.

 to be continued

Now see what's up with the other Briefers!

Cia Nordwell

J Ray Lamb

 

Wednesday Briefs: Dracula #34(7.4)

 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.

Unwilling to postpone their travels any longer than necessary, Dracula is about to reveal something perhaps he shouldn't. See what's happening 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!

Dracula #34 (7.4)

Avram jumped as a blue bolt of lightning flashed across the sky. Far too close for comfort, it was followed about five seconds later by the requisite thunder. This storm was practically upon them, the rain but a precursor to its fury. Avram was torn between taking Andrei and seeking shelter in order to keep him from seeing what was about to happen and witnessing that same event. While it was true he’d seen Nico display his talents many times over the years, that was a sight he never grew tired of.

The boat began to rock upon the turbulent river like a drunken sailor. Avram still clung to Dracula for balance on one side, Andrei on the other as the heavens showered cold sheets of rain upon them.

“Andrei, perhaps you should go below and make sure everything is fast,” he suggested. He was not surprised when the smuggler made no reply and made no effort to move. His attention was all for Dracula, who had shaken off Avram’s hand and sauntered toward the rail as easily if he were taking a casual stroll in the park.

Apparel oft proclaims the man, to quote the Bard.

Despite the workman’s clothes he wore, now thoroughly drenched, Nicolai cut an imposing figure, silhouetted against the angry sky. Sometimes Avram forgot just how powerful the vampire really was, since there was little need for such display in their everyday lives. But at moments such as these, Nico seemed to possess an almost visible aura, a stark contrast to the almost somnolent attitude he seemed to wear daily. As if life were too much effort for him, at least when they were at home.

Arms outstretched, he raised his hands, palms up, toward the sky. His eyes were closed, as if in concentration.

Avram’s attention was diverted to Andrei. The boatman grabbed his arm just as a gust of wind threatened to topple them both. The boat precariously rode the swell but made no effort to capsize, luckily. “What does he think he’s doing?”

Avram shook his head. He had no words for what was about to happen. Andrei would see for himself in just a moment.

Dracula’s lips were moving, his sonorous voice undulating in unintelligible waves despite the rising wind. Avram had no knowledge of what words were being spoken, or how Nico had come to learn them. He wasn’t even aware of how he had become what he was. But he knew whatever these words were, they possessed a power that emanated from Dracula himself. And he was greatly in awe of that power.

The waves slapped violently against the boat, both Avram and Andrei struggling to keep their feet. But Dracula remained unshakeable, as if anchored to the spot where he stood. He began to gesticulate with his hands, intricate gestures that appeared to be aimed at the storm itself.

Avram noticed the rain first. It began to lessen in intensity until it had entirely ceased to pour upon them. And yet, glancing toward either shore, he could see that rain continued to fall upon the land. As though sudden dispensation had been granted to the river. The very waves had calmed, and the boat no longer rocked. As if the boat had suddenly become a shelter from the storm that raged about them. Not only that, but the sail puffed out with a gentled wind that seemed to invite them to continue their journey.

Dracula turned to face them, his expression unreadable. “Time to go,” he said before he disappeared below deck. Avram wondered if he’d tired himself out with his impressive display. He turned to Andrei, whose mouth gaped open, soundless. But his eyes asked so much.

“He is special,” is all that Avram said as he helped his friend to get the boat under way once more.

 to be continued

Now see what's up with the other Briefers!

Cia Nordwell

J Ray Lamb

 

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

 

 

 

 

 

Book Review: In Search of Dracula: The History of Dracula and Vampires ( by Raymond T McNally & Radu Florescu)

 

In Search of Dracula: The History of Dracula and Vampires (revised)   

Author: Radu Florescu and Raymond T McNally

Publisher: Mariner Books

American release date: October 31, 1994

Format/Genre/Length: Hardback/History/320 pages

Overall Personal Rating: ★★★★

 

Everyone has heard of the infamous vampire Count Dracula, immortalized by Bram Stoker in his novel Dracula, first published in 1896. But not everyone knows that there was a real Dracula, Vlad Dracula, aka Vlad Tepes, a Wallachian prince who lived in the 15^th century, a powerful ruler who was both feared and admired by people of his time. (And yes, Transylvania is a real place!)

Dracula experts Radu Florescu and Raymond McNally have taken their original book, first published in 1972, and completely revised and updated it. The real Dracula’s story is a fascinating one, filled with violence and intrigue. The authors explore his life and the circumstances that molded his character. The things he did were often cruel, but at the same time he was a product of his times, a violent era filled with wars and shifting political and religious allegiances. It’s hard to know who to trust when even your own family conspires against you, and survival depends on caution and knowing when to act. There is no doubt he did some terrible things, especially impaling many people, innocent women and children among them. But even to this day, he is revered as a hero by people in his own country.

This book delves into his life, as well as the life of author Bram Stoker, who brought the Romanian prince back to life, so to speak, in the form of his vampire count.  Did you know that Stoker was gay? Besides being an author, he was a long-time manager of the famous actor Henry Irving, whom he also had a crush on. In the section on Stoker, the authors talk about the research that went into the writing of Stoker’s novel. They also discuss the vampire on stage, in fiction, and on film.  The appendixes include stories about Dracula told by people of various nationalities. For example, there are the Turkish ambassadors who appeared before him, wearing turbans. When Dracula requested they remove the turbans, the men said they could not for national reasons. So Dracula assisted them in their desire to keep them on by driving nails through the turbans into their heads and sent them back to their sultan. (Keep in mind, Dracula had good reason not to like the sultan, and had been held hostage by him for five years as a boy).

This book was very fascinating, and is a must-have for anyone who enjoys history and Dracula, whether the real one or the fictional one.  These authors are foremost in their field for a reason.

Wednesday Briefs: Dracula #4 (2.0)

 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 a date to keep in the village! See what's happening 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!

Dracula #4 (2.0)

A midnight breeze blew warm across the Carpathians, carrying the familiar scent of Norway spruce and Scots pine to the lone figure making his solitary way down the mountain toward the village below. Dracula loved the night above all other times. He felt that darkness possessed a certain serenity not to be found during the daylight hours. A peace of mind that was lacking beneath the sun’s fierce rays. He drew strength from the night and preferred the solitude of his castle to the cacophony of human life. Of course, his predilection for human blood demanded that he exercise extreme caution in its acquisition, especially so close to home. Unfortunately, at times of pecuniary necessity, a certain amount of social interaction was required of him. But sometimes, as was the case tonight, a clandestine rendezvous was simply a matter of pleasure.

He could have had Avram drive him to Bistritz in a carriage… if he still possessed one, which he currently did not. The previous carriage had been very ornate and surprisingly comfortable, and Dracula had enjoyed driving it down the mountain in the dead of night at breakneck speeds calculated to test the courage of any passenger, had there been one, Avram clinging precariously to the driver’s box beside him. But Avram had found it prudent to sell that vehicle along with most of the magnificent stallions that had drawn it. He claimed the expenditure on their upkeep was an unnecessary drain on their limited resources and they could utilize other forms of transportation when they went abroad. The vampire couldn’t argue with such logic, as he disliked concerning himself with such mundane matters. Someday, Dracula swore, he would have another coach, the finest that money could buy. But alas, when there is little money, one must… economize, as Avram liked to remind him. Far too often, for his taste.

Apparently Avram had read some such nonsense in a book he had recently acquired (interesting how money was found for such a purchase). He tried to explain to Dracula what the author—what was his name? Oh yes, Adam Smith—wrote concerning the subject of economics. But Dracula found the entire matter to be very dull and he didn’t bother to retain anything he was told. However, he did understand the necessity to raise more money when existing funds grew low in order that he be maintained in the lifestyle to which he would like to stay accustomed. After all, he was going to live a long and richly wonderful life. No reason to live it in poverty.

He left the one horse that remained of the set he’d previously possessed for Aram’s use. Being merely human, Avram didn’t possess the same abilities his master did. Dracula had vampiric strength and speed and could travel quite easily from the castle to the village. Not that he did so very often. Avram had convinced him that dining on the villagers would, in the end, not be in either of their best interests. Dracula reluctantly saw his point and agreed to hold himself in check—providing that his very reliable factotum, i.e. Avram, saw to all his culinary needs. Liquid, that is. While he could and did eat human food on occasion, it did not provide him with what he required to survive. How Avram acquired blood was up to him, and Dracula asked no questions.

But Dracula also had other needs that blood would not suffice to meet. So sometimes he found himself going to the village for a little bit of fun.

Bistritz had originally been settled by Saxon immigrants, well before Dracula was born. Through the years, many Germans made the village their home, as well as a number of Romanians and Hungarians. At one time, there had been a good-sized Jewish community, but that had been largely decimated through ignorance and prejudice and mindless acts of violence. Many of those who were not killed were either forcibly converted to the Orthodox Church or they chose to leave for more hospitable environs. Unfortunately, Avram’s family had been among those who did not survive the persecution. In these current times, however, anti-Semitism had receded, which made it easier for Avram to conduct business in the village. He got along well with most everyone he met. Dracula knew he spent some of his evenings there, at times when they were not traveling abroad, and considered these to be diplomatic excursions that would benefit them both. His own expeditions into the village tended to be stealthier… and more seductive.

Dracula was well aware that Doina was a married woman, and that her husband was the rather well-muscled village blacksmith. But she was a pretty thing, and Dracula enjoyed her… company. Unbeknownst to Avram, he also liked to sip her blood. Not enough to harm her or turn her, for that would serve no useful purpose. But a little drink after sex never hurt anyone. To keep her from remembering, and possibly spreading the information to those who might not take it well, he clouded her mind a little, just enough to forget the bloodletting while remembering what a wonderful lover he truly was.

When he’d first decided to bed her, the question of where they should do so was of major concern. He firmly rejected her first suggestions, not willing to lower himself to using the filthy earth for their assignations and unwilling to take a room at the inn. The first was injurious to his delicate sensibilities, while the latter ran the risk of their being seen by too many people, some of whom might just inform Bogdan, her husband. Naturally, her home was similarly out of bounds, although a tempting and cheaper solution. But then he had a truly marvelous idea, one which was deliciously wicked and fun.

The church.

 to be continued

Don't forget to visit the other Briefers and see what's up with them!

Cia Nordwell

J Ray Lamb

Wednesday Briefs: An Unholy Alliance #20 (5.4)

 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.  

After the unpleasant encounter with the rednecks, Charlemagne arrives at last at his destination. See what's going on in this week's chapter of An Unholy Alliance. Don't forget to visit the other Briefers and see what's up with them. Their links follow my tale! Enjoy!

An Unholy Alliance #20 (5.4)

As I approached the front door, I found myself assailed by an unaccustomed feeling of nervousness, waves of butterflies pirouetting inside my stomach. Could it be the knowledge that my quest might finally be reaching an end? Or maybe I feared the opposite. Would I learn something I didn’t want to know? What was of greater concern to me, bad news or no news at all?

Either way, I intended to find out. I’d come too far to back down now.

Stop being such an infant and knock on the door already.

How ridiculous was this scenario? The big bad vampire afraid of mere words? I took a deep breath, reminded myself that I could do anything I set my mind to, and raised my hand to knock upon the door… which opened unexpectedly before I’d even touched it.

“Welcome, welcome!” a musical voice greeted me. “Please, won’t you come in?” The petite figure who stood in the doorway turned, not waiting for a response. I followed her inside without hesitation, as my senses informed me that no one else lurked within. I wondered how she could possibly have known I was there. Unless she’d been looking for me, which was entirely possible. Casey had probably informed her that I would waste no time in contacting her, which was very true, of course.

“I’m Isabella, but I’m sure you knew that,” she continued. Pausing, she turned to regard me over one shoulder. “What should I call you?”

“Charlemagne would be fine,” I replied.

“That’s a lovely name.” Her smile completely lit up her face. She virtually glowed from within. I’d never met anyone who possessed such a quality. I must confess, I found her persona a little unnerving, but I quickly recovered my equanimity.

My first impression of Isabella was that of a fairy who had fallen to Earth… assuming I believed in such things, which I didn’t. She might have been slightly over five foot in height and well-curved. She wore a moss green tunic over pink leggings. A silver ankh hung about her neck. Her auburn hair flowed in waves to the middle of her back, strands of which were tinted in various pastel shades. The overall effect was stunning and only served to reinforce the image of her as a fairy or sprite.

She led me into her small but charming kitchen and opened the refrigerator door. I was surprised to see a variety of bottles of beer, including pale ale, gose, and stout, in various flavors. “I thought we could sit in the garden while we talked. What can I offer you?”

I chose a Mexican hot chocolate coffee stout, and she selected a raspberry gose for herself, and then I followed her through her back door and into the beautiful garden that ringed her home. Being no expert on flora, I couldn’t have said what most of the flowers were, other than the tall sunflowers whose large heads craned hungrily toward the sun, but I did recognize most of them as being wildflowers. I hadn’t thought people filled their gardens with those, they just grew randomly by the side of the road, but what did I know? I thought I spotted some purple tulips, so dark they were almost black, but I would have thought their growing season was long over.

Two cast iron benches adorned with antique roses faced each other in the middle of this oasis of beauty. An incongruous orange mass lay on one bench, seeming out of place, but as we neared, the lump resolved itself into a large orange tabby. The cat hissed at the sight of me, although I made no move to approach the animal. Isabella scooped it up into her arms, careful not to spill her beer. “Buddy!” she scolded him in an infinitely patient tone. “Be nice to Charlemagne. He’s our guest.”

Buddy seemed less than impressed with this explanation and proceeded to give me the evil eye as Isabella settled herself and her companion on one bench, indicating the other with a nod. “Please, make yourself comfortable.”

I obliged, but kept a wary eye on the feline all the same. I sipped my beer to keep from blurting out the questions uppermost in my mind, as that would have been rude, and I was loath to disrespect my charming hostess in such a way. I considered myself fortunate to have been granted some of her time and didn’t want to do anything that might jeopardize my access to the information she had to impart. Which had nothing to do with her or her beautiful garden.

I know, sometimes I can be self-delusional.

In my defense, it had been a long time since I’d regarded people as anything other than as dietary requirements. Or, in the case of my brothers, as competition. For what? I couldn’t say. Dominique had no love for anyone but herself, but there were times when she hid that fact well. Mama Lil had been the only person who could keep me in touch with my own humanity, but she’d been dead for a century, a loss I still felt keenly.

If I was going to be honest with myself, I supposed Casey had been the first one since Mama Lil who had been able to break through my natural reserve with her great kindness and compassion. I could live with that. But why did Fate seem so determined that I run into Tyrone Jackson on a regular basis? And why did he seem so determined on being my friend? I would have to disavow him of that train of thought. Not that I would ever see him again.

You said that last time.

Stupid inner voice.

 to be continued

Now see what the other Briefers are up to!

Cia Nordwell

J Ray Lamb

 

Wednesday Briefs: An Unholy Alliance #3 (1.3)

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. 

Charlemagne finds himself in a bit of a situation. Not only has he drained another person of too much blood and killed them, but a stranger says he knows what Charlemagne is! What to do, what to do, what to do! See what's going on in this week's chapter of An Unholy Alliance. Don't forget to visit the other Briefers and see what's up with them! Their links follow my tale! Enjoy!

An Unholy Alliance #3 (1.3)

“How old do I look?” I countered, although that wasn’t really what I wanted to say, but those were the first words to fall from my tongue. I’m not really what you might consider a smooth talker, although I can be when circumstances warrant. Such as when I’m charming a blood donor out of their precious red fluid. Although some might argue that the spice is life, with vampires it’s all about the blood. And perhaps calling them donors is stretching the definition just a little bit.

I held out my hand in order to keep this stranger at arm’s length, although that was probably not necessary, considering the corpse that lay between us was effectively performing the same function.

He stopped in his tracks. Well, his lower half did. But he proceeded to lean across the dead body as if having this conversation in the middle of the night, in the midst of death, was the most natural thing in the world. Which it certainly wasn’t. Shouldn’t have been, anyway. For either of us. If he just wanted to move closer to me in order to keep from being overheard, he was wasting his time. I have excellent hearing. Comes with the territory.

And if he had any other motive, such as becoming intimate with me on any level, he was really wasting his time.

And why I hadn’t just removed myself from this situation by now was a complete mystery to me, one I couldn’t even begin to explain.

“I know you’re a vampire,” he said in a confidential tone, completely ignoring the question I’d only half-heartedly expected an answer to, not that I really cared what he thought. But his words confirmed that he did indeed think he knew what I was, and the fact that he looked neither terrified nor intimidated was also confusing. How many people do you know who would confront an alleged supernatural being with the knowledge of their existence and not have the common sense to be scared of the consequences? I find that akin to confessing to someone that you know they are a murderer without bothering to consider that admission could get you killed. Because murderer, yeah.

Not that I was about to admit to what I was just because he guessed correctly, either. This wasn’t a quiz show, and I wasn’t about to give out prizes for right answers anytime soon.

I gave him my best disdainful look, one I’d been practicing for many years (having learned from one of the best).  Strangely, he made no move to draw back from me, his eyes locked on mine in some strange sort of staring contest. His youthful grin appeared even wider now, due to proximity, but his eyes, in contrast, seemed filled with ancient wisdom.  

 “And I know you’re nuts,” I countered. “Where are your keepers and how long ago did you break out of the asylum?”

Whatever retort he’d been about to make (and I’m fairly confident his reply would not have been very convincing) he seemed suddenly distracted and began to reach toward my chest.

“Ooh, that’s pretty, can I see?”

Without thinking, I hissed at him, even as I pulled back, baring my fangs in the process as I defensively clutched the object in question. “Don’t. Touch. That!”

“Sorry,” he instantly apologized.

Just then the moon, which had been playing peekaboo with the heavy clouds, chose that moment to make an appearance, illuminating his rather puppy dog-like eyes. His hand frozen in position, as if he was afraid to move. “I won’t touch it, I promise. It’s just beautiful, that’s all. I’ve never seen a cross quite like that. I mean, it’s almost circular. And I don’t mean to be rude but that’s the last thing I’d ever expect to see a vampire wearing. Kind of ironic, don’t you think? Doesn’t it hurt you or something? Where did you get it?”

Such a plethora of questions. Personal questions. Ones I was not particularly inclined to answer. Yes, this cross was mine and it was beautiful, and woe betide anyone who tried to take it from me.

Before I could articulate those sentiments, however, I became aware that someone in the house had awakened. A light snapped on somewhere inside. It was only a matter of time until they came looking for the young man at my feet and we would be discovered. We had to get out of here. Now. And by we I meant myself and my late dinner companion. Tyrone was free to do as he pleased.

 “I don’t know about you, but I think we should take the car and get the heck out of Dodge.” He seemed to have read my mind, recalling his hand with a last longing glance at my cross, which I still cradled protectively.

Correcting him with the information that we were nowhere near any place called Dodge seemed inane at best. And it was quickly becoming a moot point, anyway, as I could hear voices coming from inside the house. Time was running out. I could ditch Tyrone later, but for now necessity insisted we make our escape together while the getting was still good.

Wait a moment. Scratch that. Why couldn’t I just throw the body in the back seat and just take the vehicle for myself? I knew how to drive, had been driving for years, despite not having an actual license of my own. Why bother, when fake ones were so easy to manufacture?

Moving with great vampiric speed, I tossed the corpse into the back seat and vaulted behind the wheel, reaching for the keys, which should have been dangling from the ignition.

They weren’t.

“Move over now. I’ll drive.” Tyrone stood just outside the window. The car keys glittered in his hand. I just didn’t have time to argue. At least that’s what I told myself as I scooted over and he took my place.

When exactly had I lost control of the situation?

 to be continued

Now go visit the other Briefers and see what's up!

Cia Nordwell

 

 

 

 

 

Wednesday Briefs: An Unholy Alliance #2 (1.2)

 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. 

Last week, I started a new story in which we met Charlemagne, who has just been caught in a rather delicate situation. See what's going on with him in this week's chapter of An Unholy Alliance. Don't forget to visit the other Briefers and see what's up with them. Their links follow my tale! Enjoy!

An Unholy Alliance #2 (1.2)

Before I could respond, the stranger had scrambled out of the car and discreetly closed the door behind him(thank goodness for small favors, didn’t need the inhabitants of the farmhouse to make an unexpected appearance of their own), making his way as far as the hood, where he had the common sense to stop.

Mesmerized by the sight of the intruder, I suddenly realized I’d become so distracted that I hadn’t reined myself in nearly enough to avoid causing irreparable damage to my dinner, which was made obvious to me by the way he now hung limply in my arms and in the fact I was unable to detect any sign of a heartbeat.

Great, you’ve done it again…

This knowledge didn’t exactly engender warm feelings toward the newcomer. Narrowing my eyes, I glared at him, but he seemed totally oblivious to my annoyance. What sort of man was this?

At first glance, I found nothing remarkable in his appearance. I estimated him to be in his late teens or perhaps early twenties, but don’t hold me to that. I’m not the best judge of age. director In a movie, he’d probably be cast as the Nerd Next Door. Average height and weight. Reddish hair and large brown eyes, framed by tortoise shell glasses. Utter lack of fashion sense. Even in the dimmest of lights, I wanted to question whether he dressed himself in the dark. And he wore the widest grin I’d ever seen on anyone, mortal or vampire. My first impression of him was that he was a typical redneck. I was not unacquainted with the type and generally tried to avoid their dumb racist asses, for obvious reasons, although that wasn’t always possible.

But this dumb puppy seemed almost happy to see me. Scratch that, he was happy to see me. And the fact that he claimed to know what I was made that idea all the more incredulous. Either he was delusional, or he was stupid… or he was some combination of the two.

Thinking furiously, I began to weigh my options. I could leave immediately, which I was certainly capable of, let the chips fall where they may, hope this intruder would be blamed for the death of my meal, and remove myself far from this vicinity. Not like I planned on staying here for any length of time anyway, so why not move on? And should he repeat what he thought he knew to the authorities, I’m sure he would be met with polite…or not so polite…skepticism, a lot of ill-disguised laughter, and a one-way ticket to the nearest mental institution.

Option number Two: I could kill him before he could tell anyone what I was, but that idea was wrong on two levels. The first being I was sated and I didn’t purposely kill for any reason other than hunger. (Although one could argue the point that it was a necessity in this instance). The second reason was actually more compelling. I would then have two bodies to dispose of. Not a situation I would choose to be in.

So don’t ask me why I selected what presented itself as a third option. Namely, engaging in conversation with the interloper.

“What do you mean?” I deliberately chose to play dumb in case I was being paranoid and when he said he knew what I was he actually meant something other than a blood-sucking vampire. For instance, he could have assumed I was a gay man engaged in a little foreplay with his lover. Totally erroneous but understandable given our respective positions, and the way my lips were fastened upon the deceased fellow’s neck in a rather intimate fashion. Just goes to show that appearances can be deceiving. I wasn’t gay, I wasn’t straight, I was just me, and I had no interest in humans other than as food.  And no desire to explain what being ace meant to someone who probably had never even heard of the spectrum.

Of course, the longer this fellow remained unresponsive, the greater the likelihood that ploy wouldn’t likely work.

“I’ve heard the stories,” the young man said. “In fact, I’m a huge fan. Truth be told, I always hoped I’d meet one of your kind. Never really thought I would, just hoped. Know what I mean?”

I didn’t know what he meant, and I was growing irritable.

“Hey, I don’t want to shout. I mean sensitive subject and all. Mind if I come over to you? I’m harmless, I swear.” He slid right back down the hood as he spoke, pushing his glasses up his nose in what appeared to be an automatic gesture. “I don’t have a gun. Don’t know how to shoot, anyway. Not like that would hurt you. Just want you to know I’m safe. By the way, my name’s Tyrone. Tyrone Jackson. What’s yours?”

Caught off-guard, I responded without thinking. “Charlemagne.”

He ambled slowly toward me, hands outstretched as if he were approaching a strange dog he wished to pacify. Somehow I didn’t care for the analogy, even if it was my own.

“Charlemagne? Cool name. I like that. Were you named after him or something? I don’t really know much about him. History isn’t my thing, I’m more into science. But I do remember something about him starting the Holy Roman Empire. Is that when you’re from, back then?”

Caught unawares by his question, my companion slithered out of my limp grasp and fell to the ground. Not that he could feel that, mind you, but still…

“No, I’m not nearly that old.” I happened to know that my namesake lived well before 1000 AD. And damn, what was I admitting to, and why? I needed to take hold of this situation… right now… and deal with it, before it got any more out of hand than it was.

 to be continued

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

Cia Nordwell