HOLY COW!

by Gail Fulkerson

The cattleman had returned his herd to the Dundurn pasture a month ago. They ate their way from one pasture to another, cropping the rich grass short with their teeth.

Ophelia watched them with a sense of wonder and hunger. A prize that big could fill her basement cache of blood for up to twelve months.

She'd never tasted cow blood before and was curious, so she went to the pasture after dark one night and singled out a calf. Her preternatural vision enabled her to locate the animal's jugular vein easily; from there, it was a matter of obtaining the blood without disturbing the animal as it slept. 

She had practiced the technique of doing just that over decades of blood-drinking. At first, she was clumsy, and her prey awoke more often than not. As her skills progressed, Ophelia got better at blood-sucking while her victims slept and eventually died under her ministrations. 

Approaching the calf she'd chosen, she wondered whether the same techniques would work on a cow. She needn't have worried; the calf didn't stir as Ophelia knelt in the grass beside the animal and began to feed. At first, she found the feel of the calf's fur on her lips to be unsettling, but once she had nicked the vein and the blood started to flow, the sensation took a back seat to the pleasurable rush of blood in her mouth. It was warm and silky, tasting of a sun-drenched meadow, and Ophelia wanted more. 

She had brought blood bags with her and pulled one out to fill. All in all, Ophelia ended up filling a dozen blood bags from the calf. It died in its sleep and the rancher would never know what killed it.

Ophelia could hardly wait for Roscoe to taste the calf's blood, knowing he'd love it almost as much as she did, so when she got home, she poured some into his bowl and waited for his reaction. He tasted the blood, and it was delicious. He finished the bowl and asked for more -- twice. He'd never done that before, so Ophelia knew he'd put his stamp of approval on it. 

When he asked Ophelia what kind of blood it was, she told him that she got a dozen bags of it from the one calf. Roscoe was suitably impressed and wondered when she'd be going out to collect more. 

The next night, Ophelia and Roscoe went into the pasture to search for a full-grown cow with the tastiest blood. She tasted upwards of fifteen cows before the best one presented itself. Then she went to work. A mere twelve bags wouldn't be enough to contain this gigantic animal's blood; she went back to her house three separate times to retrieve blood bags.

Ultimately, Ophelia harvested forty-five blood bags from the animal, leaving her gigantic carcass in the field for the rancher to find the next time he checked on his herd.

One more kill and the pantry would be filled. Ophelia and Roscoe both thought how much easier it was to kill off a cow compared to a human. For one thing, there was no concern that someone might walk by and see them at their dastardly doings. Luckily, the pair always chose a pasture that was far enough away from the rancher's abode to avoid detection. And the cattle were lying down, either sleeping or chewing their cud.

 With the last cow dispatched, Ophelia and Roscoe hightailed it back home to decant the bagged blood into sterile mason jars. Ophelia held back a bottle for the two of them to drink before bed. The blood had cooled somewhat, and Ophelia poured it into a saucepan to warm it on the stove. She poured the blood into Roscoe's bowl and her mug, took them into the living room and got comfortable in her chair. Roscoe had drank half of his blood bowl before Ophelia had taken her first sip. He always enjoyed his blood more than Ophelia did.

"Hey, Roscoe, what do you say to a soak in the tub before bed? I know I'd like to," Ophelia asked of her diminutive co-conspirator. For his answer, Roscoe ran up the stairs to the bathroom and waited for his pal to join him. 

Ophelia floated gently up the stairs and ran the bath, adding her night-blooming jasmine-scented bubble bath to the water. The pair soaked until the water started to cool.

 As was customary, Ophelia dressed Roscoe in a miniature version of her bright white nightie and hair wrap after she'd towelled him off. Then, they went downstairs to have a cup of blood tea before heading to bed. 

Roscoe was the first to yawn. Taking this as her cue, Ophelia picked up her small chum, headed upstairs to the coffin bed and gently placed him in his spot in the top right corner. She watched as he snuggled into the afghans and blankets and settled. Then she snuggled in herself and was asleep in minutes. 

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.