Dracula

As easy as it would be to conquer humanity, and as much as it needed conquering, Vlad chose to bide his time. As an immortal, he could enslave all creation whenever he wanted. Now all he wanted was red wine.

Some faction of the community sent him gift baskets that they called offerings. Today’s collection contained the typical bries and pinot noirs, which made a nice gesture, but the other bottle, filled with human blood, was almost insulting in its implication. The various small animal corpses were similarly patronizing. He would dispose of them when he had the stomach.

He spread some brie on a communion wafer. The sizzle felt good in his mouth and made the fruitiness of the wine all the more welcome.

“Lord Dracula,” came a voice from beyond the door. “I apologize for entering your domain without permission, but I assumed you would not hear my lowly knock from your exalted tower.”

Vlad waved his hand at the door, and glared at the peasant, who led on a leash a young woman draped in white sheets, tied in white ribbon.

“Your excellency, I hope you received our tribute.”

Vlad tipped his wine glass in answer.

“But we didn’t want you to think we were trying to placate you, my lord. I have brought my eldest daughter for you as a sacrifice, to do with as you see fit.”

“Oh that’s quite all right. I don’t need any sacrifices right now.”

He looked at the girl, and as she heard him, she turned her head away in shame.

Her father looked angry. “I apologize that the sacrifice is inadequate, my lord. Please spare our village!”

Vlad sighed, and with a shrug, stripped her body bare and drained her blood.

“Mm, thank you so much. My favorite.”

#dracula, #fan-fiction-2, #fantasy, #microfiction, #monsters, #politeness, #supernatural

Ghost

As his fiancee returned from his funeral, Arturo held her hand. She had no idea he was there, but he could feel her. Maybe she looked around for him. Maybe she sensed him.

He couldn’t tell what she was feeling. Some things don’t change.

As she turned on daytime television, he watched her. He’d never been able to look so long without her swatting him away. “It’s not cancer. I’m pregnant, and it’s your brother’s!” He was able to take in the whole of her body, which looked good in black. “Impossible! My brother’s been dead for three years!”

He put a hand on her shoulder, and she didn’t seem to notice. He tried massaging her, and before long, she was starting to relax. He worked his way down, moving more gently than he could have with his old awkward hands. He touched her breast. It was the first time she’d allowed him to touch her, maybe the first time she’d been touched. “He’s not my brother; he’s my father!”

Pressing deeper, he felt his hand on his chest. He felt vaguely afraid, and somehow more fascinated by the soaps. Distraction was important. How long before he should start dating again? At least he hadn’t been too in love, he heard himself think, and a wave of guilt afterward.

He couldn’t tell what he was feeling.

Since he was alone in the house, he had no need to quantify. Instead, he quietly learned the parts of his vagina over his clothes and prepared to face oblivion.

#death, #ghost, #lovers, #microfiction, #supernatural