By Gail Fulkerson
The townspeople had had enough. It was time to end the reign of terror brought by Ophelia, the child vampire, when she moved to the area. Too many people had disappeared in the weeks since she settled in the area and began hunting the townsfolk.
Bodies drained of blood were discovered in ditches and along walking trails. At first, the townsfolk put it down to a serial killer prowling the streets, but when bloodless bodies showed up with startling regularity, people became suspicious.
**********
No one could recall ever seeing the little blonde girl in the daytime. They incorrectly assumed that Ophelia was ill and couldn't be in the sunshine. Boy, were they ever wrong.
One morning, before sunrise, a man looking out his living room window spied a tiny person in a bright white nightie standing over a prone body lying on the sidewalk. As he watched, the diminutive one got down on her knees beside the body, bent over, and put her face into the curve of the body's neck. Horrified, the man observed Ophelia in her crouched position raise her head, and when she did, her mouth and chin were stained with blood. Ophelia tore a piece of the victim's shirt to wipe her face, discarding it when she finished.
The man almost missed the little dog that travelled with Ophelia. He noticed it at one of the victim's ankles when Roscoe moved. When the man saw him, Roscoe had just finished his drink from a torn open vein and was wiping his face on damp leaves. Appalled, the man took a few steps back from the window, his eyes never leaving the scene of carnage.
Roscoe noticed the movement and alerted Ophelia that the pair were being observed while they fed. They had a contingency plan for such eventualities and put it into action.
Roscoe walked out of sight, and Ophelia stood up and straightened her bright white nightie before appearing to depart the scene. The man who'd observed the pair opened his front door to look down the street to see where they'd gotten to. Not seeing either of them, the man closed the door and returned to his living room.
There, in the middle of the room, stood Ophelia and Roscoe. The man was about to scream when Ophelia leapt upon him, sinking her fangs into his neck. It was all over in moments. The man lay dead in his living room as Roscoe tore open a vein in the man's ankle and started feeding. Ophelia filled four blood bags from the man's corpse before leaving it to cool to room temperature.
When they arrived home, Ophelia bottled the blood in mason jars and put them up on the shelf in the basement, reserving one to take upstairs to the refrigerator for the pair to imbibe when they awoke from their sleep. In the meantime, Ophelia brewed up some blood tea for her and Roscoe to sip on before bed.
Mounting the stairs with Roscoe trailing behind, Ophelia went to her bedroom and climbed into her coffin bed. She tucked Roscoe into his usual spot in the top right corner, snuggled under the blankets and quilts and got comfortable. They were both sleeping soundly in minutes, if you can call what they were doing sleep. It was more like a death that began at daybreak and ended after full dark.
Awakening in the pitch black of her sealed coffin bed was de rigeur for Ophelia and Roscoe. The light from the street was thin but brighter than inside the coffin bed, and Ophelia shielded her eyes until they could adjust to the increased light. Roscoe's eyes took some time to adapt as well. He squinted and blinked until his eyesight settled.
Ophelia went to the kitchen to put on the kettle for the night's first cup of blood tea. She made it strong for them both, adding an extra spoonful of powdered blood to each cup. Roscoe sipped his and told his mistress it was the best cuppa tea he ever had. He asked Ophelia if she'd make his tea like this from now on. She agreed with his request, telling him it was the best tea she'd ever had. She made a mental note to make extra powdered blood the next time she concocted it.
It was easy to make powdered blood: pour a mason jar of liquid blood onto a cookie sheet and pop it into the oven on low heat until all the moisture is gone. Then, break up the dried blood clumps and return them to the oven to dry some more. It took time and patience, which Ophelia had in spades. By the time the sun was about to break, Ophelia had powdered a gallon of blood, which would last her and Roscoe at least a month.
Ophelia was beaten to a frazzle. She'd made two kills and a gallon of powdered blood in her basement in one night. She wasn't used to this level of activity anymore. It had been ages since the last time Ophelia had made more than one kill in a night, and her body complained of aches and pains, so she ran a hot bath and got in to soak. Roscoe was not invited into the tub until the water cooled a few degrees.
Ophelia stepped out of the tub and towelled off. Then she picked up Roscoe and set him on the bathmat. He shook the water off his coat onto Ophelia's legs, the floor, and the walls before she could towel him off.
Ophelia wrapped him in his replica miniature housecoat and hair towel, fashioned from an old nightie of hers. He proudly paraded around the house in his outfit, which made him look like an Ophelia 'mini-me.'
She brewed them both a cup of blood tea from the newest powdered blood batch. It tasted fresh and bright on her tongue, prompting her to brew a second cup.
Ophelia yawned and mounted the stairs to go to bed. Roscoe ran ahead of her, leapt onto the coffin bed, and waited for Ophelia to tuck him in.
She climbed into bed and snuggled under the blankets and quilts.
"Goodnight, Roscoe, my little man. See you after sundown."
"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.
No comments:
Post a Comment