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Oleen Fernz

Horror

4.0  

Oleen Fernz

Horror

He Wrote Dracula

He Wrote Dracula

8 mins
260



18-11-2020 Favourite Horror: Dracula


   The wind howled furiously through the arched gothic windows as he furiously scribbled on the parchment paper with his quill. Inspiration had struck him and his words flowed on the paper as the character of his book came to life. He had named him Count Dracula. The world Dracula meant The Devil and his character embodied all things evil. He described Dracula as living in a castle very much like his own, being handsome just like him and feared at the same time. Dracula also preferred to sleep during the day and be active at night, just like his creator. He took inspiration from the Vampire Bats that hung upside down under the sloping roofs of his castle during the day and flew away at night to hunt. Encountering a slight pause in his thought flow, he got up suddenly and prowled to the open window where the wind blew the curtains high up in the air. It was bitterly cold, but it did not affect him. He could see only darkness in the valley below where on clear days he could see as far as the local village. He seemed to stare at a distance, but his mind was deep within his character as he plotted his hero’s most villainous deed. He walked back to his desk and his hand automatically went to the decanter of red wine but found it empty. Enraged at the servants who had not replenished the wine, he threw the bottle towards the fireplace where it shattered into a million pieces which lay like hastily strewn diamonds on the floor.


 He stalked out of his room, down the wide steps of the castle, through the kitchen, and yanked unlocked the door of the wine cellar. He always kept the wine cellar locked to keep the servants away from the precious wines he had collected over the years during his travels. He lit a candle and carried it down the dark and dank cellar where barrels and bottles of wine were aged to give it a rich taste and flavour. Placing the candle on a shelf, he rooted around for his favoured wine when his elbow accidentally brushed against a bottle and it fell to the floor. Taken aback, he watched as the ruby red wine slowly seeped through cracks on the stone floor like newly spilled blood. The sight transfixed him. Blood, he thought, yes, blood. Dracula wanted blood. Blood would Dracula’s elixir, his drink of choice, the thing that would give him eternal life. He ran up from the cellar to his room like a man possessed, bent down on his parchment, and began writing. He described the look and smell of blood and then his furious scratching came to a halt. He could not describe its taste. Would it be sweet like wine, that would go smoothly down his throat or would it taste sour like a freshly squeezed tomato? Would it have a metallic taste as the smell suggested or would it be something that no man in his right senses had tasted? He saw the sky lighten up as dawn broke through the dark clouds. Abandoning his quill to be picked up later that night, he fell on his bed and was asleep in a few minutes. 


That night he got no further in describing the taste of blood. Dark thoughts plagued his mind, obscuring reason, like the grey clouds that stole in front of the full moon high up in the night sky. He wanted a taste of blood. He could maybe taste his own, but he had an aversion to anything that would hurt him. His thoughts ran all over the castle and finally to the slaughterhouse a little way from the castle. Here, animals were kept until the butcher deemed them ready for the master’s table. He went down and made his way to the slaughterhouse where he spied some sheep sleeping and pigs grunting. One pig was at a distance from the others, prepared for the next day. He chose that one as his prey. There were no servants around as they all lived in the village and he had picked a wicked-looking knife from the kitchen to help him do the deed. He slowly knelt in front of the pig and aimed the knife at the pig’s jugular vein. What he did not expect, was a warm spurt of blood to shoot out from the vein and drench his face and upper body. The smell was disgusting and he gagged as he ran away from the building, to the sound of the pig’s dying cries accompanied by the cries of the other animals whose sleep had been disturbed. He managed only a few steps before he fell to his knees, and vomited near the bushes. Once he had emptied his bowels, he went to the pond just behind the hedges and dipped his head into the stagnant water, one, two, three times, till the stench and stain of the blood had been washed away. He then managed to stagger up to his room and fall asleep.


   The next night he was better prepared. He dragged a hapless pig away from the slaughterhouse to a place behind the castle. This time he had a bowl ready and he stood behind the pig as he slit its throat. He collected the blood in the bowl and telling himself that it was all for the greater good, drank it. He imbibed its feel and its taste. He went up to his room and wrote pages on how Dracula had claimed his prey. He felt powerful as if he had completed an insurmountable task. He fell asleep, drunk on the taste of blood and his own perceived greatness.


A few days passed. No more lines filled the pages. The animal blood had been devoured, the story written and now there was a need for a new adventure. Dark thoughts once again swirled around his mind and dimmed his eyesight. He visualised a beautiful neck, white and graceful attached to a nubile female. How would it feel to kiss that neck and then sink his teeth into that tender flesh, he wondered. His body stirred and called for action. At this time of the night, a young girl could only be found waitressing in the tavern near the village. He would wait outside for one of them to make their way out. He got onto his horse and galloped down the road leading from the castle to the village. He was dressed in all black, the horse was black and a great cloak billowed out from behind him, which to a fanciful viewer would look like the devil himself had come to call. But when the girl came outside the tavern to make her way home, she saw only a handsome young gentleman, who promised her a bag of gold coins for a night spent with him. She did not hesitate. A bag of gold would go a long way in securing her future.


He helped her sit in front of him on the horse and he put his arms around her to hold the reins. He could not believe his good fortune. She was beautiful, doe-eyed, her skin as soft as a delicate rose, and waves of black hair cascaded down her back. But what tempted him most was the white column on her long tender neck, sinful and tempting, just waiting for his teeth. He galloped faster and had them both in his room in no time at all. He paid compliments to her beauty and plied her with good food and rich wine. In a couple of hours, she was pliant and somnolent in his arms. After arranging her to his satisfaction, he experimentally took a bite of her neck. She hardly whimpered, perhaps enjoying the unique sensation of pleasure and pain. Then, he grasped her and sunk his teeth deep into her neck, and waited as her jugular burst and flooded his mouth with the deep, rich, dark taste of blood. She struggled like a deer caught in a hunter’s trap, but he held her down with brute force. A few minutes later, he had his fill and she became pale and lifeless as the loss of blood rendered her unconscious. He wrapped her neck in a thick sheet and dragged her down the steps, through the kitchen, and threw her down the cellar steps after unlocking the door. He would give it a couple of days for her to bleed out completely and then dispose off the body.


The next night went brilliantly as he described Dracula finding the nubile beauty and his first taste of blood. He described its taste and feel and recalled with pleasure every minute of the previous night with the beautiful damsel. He was ecstatic, fearlessly happy. He felt invincible. He had developed a taste for blood. But the very next night, the feeling of euphoria had disappeared. The adrenaline rush had receded. He felt curiously flat and empty. He wondered if, in his book, he should make the girl undead. He had already written that Dracula would have eternal life and wouldn’t it be wonderful to share it with his first victim. Maybe they would have undead babies as they terrorised the local people and feasted on their blood.


A sound from below shook him out of his thoughts. It sounded like something rattling. Curious, he followed the sound to the kitchen. To his shock and horror, he saw that it was the lock on the cellar door making the noise and the cellar door was rattling furiously as if something dead or perhaps undead was trying to make its way out into the world. 


 


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