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.
An enraged Dracula stabs the blacksmith after he killed his own wife. What will the repercussions be? 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!
The
blacksmith clutched at the knife protruding from his chest, no doubt intending
to remove it. As if that would make any difference to what was happening or
save his life.
“Please…
please…” His voice barely rose above a whisper in stark contrast to the
boisterous bravado he’d displayed earlier.
Dracula
knew his time was running out, and he could be discovered at any moment, but he
couldn’t resist toying with the blacksmith, even in death. “Please what, little
man?” He leaned in toward the dying man, pressing his own hand over the other’s
upon the hilt of the blade.
“You
can… you can end this. Keep me alive. Make me… like you…”
Dracula
threw back his head and roared with laughter. So now the idea of being strigoi
was not so bad, was it?
Bogdan
must have mistaken the laughter for actual amusement. Breathing heavily, he clasped
Dracula’s hand weakly, almost expectantly. Hope lived in his eyes, but not for
long. Dracula shook him off with a disdainful sneer even as he pressed the
knife harder, deeper into the blacksmith’s heart. “If I did not do it for her,
why do you think I would do it for you?”
Bogdan
made no reply, but Dracula had not expected one, for as the saying went, dead
men tell no tales. And the blacksmith was indeed dead.
And not
a moment too soon as the church door burst open. Dracula braced himself to face
an onslaught of villagers, prepared to do what he must to survive the encounter.
But, to his surprise, he found himself face-to-face with Avram and his priest
friend. He didn’t have to look into Avram’s eyes to know he was appalled at
what he was seeing.
Avram
seemed rooted to the spot, as if unable to respond. The priest, however, seemed
to be the more capable of the two men at the moment. He rushed back the way
they had come and quickly dropped the bolt into place that would secure the
door from outside intervention, although Dracula was unsure why he did so. Did
he wish to be trapped inside with one such as him? Or did he have the misguided
notion that he could somehow overtake the vampire and rid the village of his
presence? That idea was laughable, of course.
“Oy gevalt!”
Avram exclaimed at last. He pulled himself from his momentary shock and hurried
to kneel by Dracula, sparing but a brief glance at the dead blacksmith. “Why
has this happened? Have you taken leave of your senses? Have I not warned you
about this?”
Dracula
gestured toward the body of the dead woman behind him. “He killed her, Avram.
His own wife. He wanted to kill me, but she threw herself between us and he murdered
her.” He knew he must sound as baffled as he felt. This had certainly not been
his intention when he’d come here that evening. Even if he did not love her, he
would never have harmed her. Her death was senseless and needless… her
husband’s was necessary and justifiable. He would not feel either guilt or
remorse for the fool’s demise.
The
priest chose that unfortunate moment to join them. Dracula tensed, prepared to
attack if necessary.
He hoped
that would not be necessary.
“Don’t.”
Avram laid a warning hand upon his arm, his tone brooking no argument. “We
don’t have time for that. We have to figure out what we are going to do.”
Do? What
was there to do? What was done was done. Unless, of course, he needed to deal
with the priest, despite Avram’s warning not to do so.
“We
can’t just return to the castle as if nothing has happened.” Avram glanced at
the priest then back to Dracula. “And we can’t just stay here either, waiting
to be caught.”
“You
have done nothing. And I have done nothing wrong.” He cast a baleful glance at
the priest. “And please spare me any of your homilies on the evilness of
murder, priest, for I am not in the mood.”
“I would
not waste my breath on attempting to proselytize you,” the priest said. “I
would be willing to pray for you, though. For your immortal soul.”
“Gunther,
please.” Before Dracula could tell him how foolish he was, Avram had risen to
his feet and ushered the priest aside, talking to him in hushed tones.
Dracula found a grim humor in Avram’s attempt
at secrecy. “You know I can hear you, right?”
“Yes,
you are quite the busybody,” Avram replied. ‘But even so, hush for a moment,
will you, while we try to work this out?”
Dracula’s
scowl at Avram’s words deepened when he thought he saw a trace of a smile on
the priest’s face. Why was the man so damned calm? Two people dead inside of
his church should have warranted more of a reaction, surely?
And why
was he sitting here waiting for Avram to decide what to do?
Maybe
because Avram made most of the decisions involved in their lives. Dracula
simply lived. It was up to Avram to make that possible.
Just as
Dracula reached the limits of his patience, the two men returned. Avram seemed
resigned, but the priest he could not read.
“We have
to leave here for a while,” Avram said.
“A
while?” Dracula frowned. “What do you mean by that? And where do you intend we
should go?” He never even questioned that Avram should accompany him, that was
a given. Avram was in his service, after all. Where Dracula went, Avram went.
“As long
as it takes for people to forget,” Avram said simply. “We need money, so I
think we shall go to Vienna. I’m sure you are missed there.”
Dracula
tried not to groan. Ah, the things one was forced to do in order to stay
afloat.
