Four Against One and a Two-Fer

By Gail Fulkerson

It had been a trying night. Ophelia had awoken late, a mason jar lay shattered in a pool of blood on the kitchen floor, and Roscoe was nowhere to be found. He'd done this before, taking off before she awoke and returning home a few hours later. 

Ophelia would start worrying if he didn't come back before sunrise. When he finally appeared in the kitchen, she was about to hit the streets to look for him. 

"Where have you been, Roscoe? When I couldn't find you, I was worried sick and thought something terrible had happened to you. I'm glad that you're okay. Want some blood or blood tea after your adventure?"

The pair had an effortless communication style, where Ophelia would ask Roscoe questions, and he would answer her telepathically. He told her he had a bad dream that woke him up and couldn't get back to sleep, so he decided to get up and walk. While he was out, he ran into four street dogs. They didn't like the way Roscoe looked or smelled, so they decided to gang up on him and kill him. That was a tremendous mistake on their part.

The first dog rushed at Roscoe and tried biting him, but Roscoe was too fast, and he effortlessly dispatched the dog with a bite that broke the dog's spine.

The second and third dogs double-teamed Roscoe, but that didn't work either. Roscoe was so fast he was a blur and broke both their necks. 

The fourth and final dog was the biggest one of the group. As the dog walked resolutely toward Roscoe, making herself look bigger and more menacing, Roscoe stood his ground and watched her approach. 

They were nose-to-nose, the giant dog growling in Roscoe's face. Roscoe bared his teeth and the dog took a few steps back, her fur raised. Roscoe advanced, still smiling with his mouthful of vampire teeth. When he was no more than three steps away, he leapt on her and buried his fangs into her neck and started sucking blood. The bitch tried to dislodge Roscoe, but it didn't work. She died on the spot, and he felt vindicated and full. 

He trotted home, so proud of himself for what he'd accomplished. He wanted to tell Ophelia all about it, but first, he had to go through the car wash to clean all the blood off himself. He avoided the dryer at the end since it would have blown him back into the shampoo and wax section, where he'd already been.

Roscoe detailed the events of the fight to Ophelia. At the end of his telling, Ophelia grabbed him up and hugged him, telling him he was such a good boy and to please wake her up the next time he was having a bad dream. Even though he demonstrated that he could handle himself, she didn't want him out wandering the streets without her.

                                                                        **********
Ophelia brewed them a lovely cup of blood tea. The two of them sat in the living room and sipped as they watched the world go by through the picture window. There was nothing new to see except a possum who meandered past the house carrying babies on her back. A black cat walked down the sidewalk; Roscoe took notice and asked Ophelia to let him out so he could chase the feline. He returned about ten minutes later, licking his lips. There was still some cat blood on his chin that Ophelia wiped away for him. 

"Roscoe, dear boy, that's the sixth cat you've killed this week. The neighbours will be getting suspicious. Have you been burying the collars like I told you to?"

Roscoe nodded in the affirmative and told Ophelia where he'd been interring them in the yard. He didn't tell her that he'd killed ten cats this week because she'd be mad.

                                                                       **********
The next night, the pair went hunting in the nightclub district of town. They arrived as the clubs disgorged their intoxicated patrons, and the pickings were good. There were plenty of men and women to choose from, so Ophelia took her time making her choice. She decided on a man who was so drunk he wobbled and stumbled when he walked. Ophelia approached him and offered her arm to steady himself. He took it and clamped down so hard that she thought her arm would break, but it didn't. 

"Hey, little missy, what are you doing out so late without your parents?" the man slurred. 

"I'm out late because I'm a vampire and need to drink blood to stay alive," replied Ophelia. "I chose you tonight, so come with me, and we'll get this over and done with. What do you say?"

The man laughed his head off at Ophelia's statement. As he guffawed, Ophelia bit into his neck and started drinking. His blood tasted funny, and not just from the alcohol. Something dreadful was going on with this man's blood; she could taste it. Rather than a warm silkiness, the blood tasted foul, probably polluted with toxins.

Ophelia unlatched quickly and snapped the man's neck. The police would think the man fell as the result of a drunken stupor and broke his neck when they found his body the next day. They couldn't explain the lack of blood in and around the corpse. 

Ophelia had spit out what was in her mouth onto the pavement and then filled three blood bags to take home. As foul as the blood tasted, it would do for ink. 

Roscoe was after another cat, a grey one this time. He cornered it in an alley, and the fight was on. The hissing cat went for Roscoe, aiming for his eyes. Cats are quick, but Roscoe was even more agile and bit down on the cat's paw as it tried to swipe his face. The cat yowled in pain, but Roscoe would not let go. The cat's claws pierced Roscoe's tongue and lip, making them bleed profusely, but not long after the injury, the wounds stopped bleeding and healed over. (Vampire healing properties never ceased to amaze Roscoe and Ophelia.) 

                                                                         **********
Some time ago, Ophelia had purchased a high-powered microscope to look more closely at the blood she brought home and drank. The tainted blood she had reaped from the drunk man warranted a closer look. Ophelia prepared a slide, put it under the microscope, and focussed. All sorts of things were visible, but the yellow dots she saw indicated a virus, and there were loads of them. Thank goodness vampires don't get ill from viruses, or Ophelia would have been sickened long ago. The Spanish flu epidemic in the 20th century, and Covid-19 in the 21st century, come to mind. 

                                                                         **********
The next night, the pair revisited the nightclubs and snagged a couple of intoxicated women, one beefy and the other not. Ophelia feigned crying because she had lost her little dog, Roscoe, and was beside herself with worry. The two women helped Ophelia look for the little dog with her, and together, they ended up in an alley without an exit. 

"Sorry, ladies, but my dog isn't missing; he's right before you." The two women turned and looked; there was Roscoe, grinning from ear to ear, showing off his vampire teeth. The women screamed at the sight of him and started running back the way they came, but Ophelia was in their way. "Where are you going in such a hurry, ladies? If you leave now, you'll miss the best part of the night, where I sink my teeth into your necks and suck your blood."

Ophelia grabbed the heaviest one by the arm and dragged her to the ground, bit into her neck and started sucking. The smaller-framed woman stood looking at the scene and screaming. Roscoe was on her in a flash, silencing her screams with his teeth in her neck. He held her down and drank a few mouthfuls of her blood. Ophelia was finishing up with the other one and had blood bags out to collect whatever blood was remaining in the heavier-set woman's body. As the last bag filled, Ophelia moved to the woman Roscoe had subdued and snapped her neck. Then she siphoned the blood into blood bags. 

Ophelia ended up bringing home six bags of blood, which she decanted into mason jars and placed on the shelf in the basement.

"There's still time to have a cuppa blood tea before dawn, Roscoe. What do you say?"
Roscoe nodded in agreement and followed his mistress into the kitchen. 

                                                                          **********
After their tea, the two went upstairs to bed, Roscoe in the top right corner of the coffin bed. The pair snuggled under the sheets and blankets and drifted off to sleep. 

-- Gail Fulkerson is a writer who specializes in writings of the supernatural. She lives with her family in Saskatchewan, where she is working on another story. This is a series about Ophelia Banks. Gail just published her new book: "Tales of the Macabre". The book is available at Turning the Tide bookstore in Saskatoon or online direct from Gail. Make a comment and I will pass on your information to her. Stay tuned to 'OZ' for future stories.