It began as a coldness in her legs that crept past her knees and was halfway up her thighs before Ophelia felt her muscles cramping. She knew she needed to warm up before the cold claimed any more of her body, so she crawled to the stairs, climbed awkwardly up to the bathroom, and ran very hot water into the tub. Getting into the hot water, she felt the heat on her legs beginning to ease the cramps. Instead of soaking until the water began to cool, Ophelia drained some of the cooled water and replaced it with hot water. This she did over and over again until her legs felt ‘normal’ again. Then she stepped out and dried herself with a thick cotton towel. Roscoe had not been allowed into the tub while Ophelia soaked because the water was too hot. Ophelia explained telepathically to him the necessity of the bath and the high temperature of the water to ease the muscle cramps in her legs. She was afraid that he might become parboiled, and that would have been disastrous.
She dressed in a crisp, clean, bright white nightie, foregoing the head wrap, then went downstairs to heat some blood in a saucepan for herself and Roscoe. Blood tea wouldn’t cut it after the cramps in her legs. She poured the drink into a mug for herself and a bowl for Roscoe and carried them into the living room, sipping from her mug as she went. Ophelia had heated the blood a couple of degrees warmer than usual, like insurance against the cold, wrapped herself in a heated throw, and settled comfortably in her chair. Roscoe, having finished his blood, burrowed under the throw and found a warm spot behind Ophelia’s knees. The pair of killers sat together and relaxed.
“You know, Roscoe, there’s still time for us to go out and hunt if you want to. What do you say? A quick jog around the block to see whether anyone or anything is stirring? I know I’d like to get out and stretch my legs.” Ophelia didn’t have to ask twice. Roscoe was out from under the throw in a flash and had his leash in his mouth, waiting for Ophelia to get to the door. Out they went, with Roscoe leading the way.
Within a few minutes, the pair spied an elderly woman shuffling down the sidewalk towards home, carrying a shopping bag.
“Can I help you with your shopping?” Ophelia asked the woman.
“You certainly may, young lady. These groceries feel heavier and heavier the longer I carry them,” remarked the old lady. “I’m so glad you showed up, child.”
Taking the bag from the woman, Ophelia followed the woman to her door and offered to carry the groceries into her kitchen. The woman happily obliged and led the little vampire into her kitchen, where Ophelia set the grocery bag on the counter. Fixing her with a stare, the child vampire watched the woman’s every move and struck when the old woman bent to retrieve the sales slip that had fallen from the bag.
Her fangs easily broke the crepey skin on the woman’s neck. Ophelia began feeding hungrily as the elderly woman tried her damnedest to shake the unholy child from her back, but it was not to be. The old woman died in her kitchen. Ophelia pulled some blood bags from her coat pocket and filled three of them before the woman ran dry.
Roscoe had torn open a gash on the woman’s ankle and had drunk his fill. He asked Ophelia to wipe his chin to get the blood off, and she obliged with a tissue. “Do you want to fly home, my little man, or does walking suit you better? If I had my druthers, I’d walk home, even though it’s cold outside.” Roscoe opted for flying, so off they went into the cold, dark skies, headed for home.
“How ‘bout a cup of blood before warming up in a hot bath, Roscoe? I know I’d like to have a nice, hot soak before bed,” Ophelia stated. Roscoe was up for a hot bath, so the two of them raced each other up the stairs; Roscoe won, as always. The warmed blood could wait until after their bath.
Sufficiently warmed, Ophelia and Roscoe got out of the tub and towelled off. Ophelia donned a clean, bright white nightie and a hair wrap, then saw to Roscoe, making sure he was dry before helping him into his replica nightie and hair towel.
The pair went downstairs, and Ophelia warmed some blood in a saucepan, then poured it into a mug and bowl for the two of them. They sipped and lapped as they looked out the picture window. A mouse poked its head through the snow, hoping to find some seeds the birds had spread while sorting through the contents of the bird feeder. Roscoe wanted to go after the little rodent, but Ophelia told him not to, especially after his hot bath. He was miffed, but settled down after some minutes and the promise of a bowl of blood tea.
The blood tea was ‘just what the doctor ordered’; it filled all the little niches in Roscoe’s stomach comfortably, and he sighed contentedly.
Ophelia yawned and, looking out the window, noticed that the sky was beginning to lighten, meaning it was time to go to bed, so off the pair went to the coffin bed. Ophelia settled Roscoe into his usual spot and then got comfortable herself.
The two of them snuggled into the myriad blankets and quilts and were soon asleep. Roscoe even snored a little.
Gail Fulkerson is a writer and a regular contributor to 'OZ', 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.
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