OPHELIA GETS SICK

By Gail Fulkerson

       Ophelia was sick with a nasty cough that had persisted for the past week. Her throat was raw from all the coughing, as were her lungs; her body ached from the exertions. Sleep was sporadic, but she rested when there was a lull in the coughing fits. Her mood was dark; she loathed being sick.

As her health was slowly returning to normal, Ophelia became restless and needed to get out of the house. She donned her coat, hat, scarf, and gloves and headed out the front door, turning left towards the railroad tracks, making sure she didn't run into anyone on her outing. Her sinuses were congested, making it impossible for her to suck blood. Ophelia was thankful she had a stash of mason jars full of blood in her basement. She wouldn't have to go hunting for months if she didn't want to. Except for tonight, Ophelia always wanted to hunt.

Roscoe was still asleep in the coffin bed when Ophelia left the house. When he awakened, the house was eerily quiet. Not sure where she went, Roscoe searched for Ophelia but didn't find her anywhere in the house. He was almost in a panic when Ophelia came in the front door. Relief washed over him, and then he got mad. He demanded to know where she'd gotten to and why she didn't wake him before leaving. Not used to being interrogated by her companion, Ophelia snapped at him, showing her fangs, which set Roscoe on his heels. It was the first spat the pair had had since they were partners, and both regretted their harsh words. 

They apologized to one another and then went to the kitchen to brew a cuppa blood tea. Ophelia and Roscoe sat in the comfy chair facing the living room window, sipping and watching. A large dog trotted down the sidewalk ahead of its master. Roscoe growled until the other dog was out of sight; Ophelia quietly snickered so he wouldn't hear her. The snickering caused another coughing jag, and Ophelia had to put her teacup on the table to avoid spilling it all over herself and Roscoe. 

She thought about soaking in a hot bubble bath, then nixed the idea as being too much work, so she settled for wrapping herself in the warm, electric throw she kept on the back of her chair. It was big enough to cover both herself and Roscoe, so that's what she did, ensuring that no cooler air got in under the blanket by tucking it neatly around them. 

Since Ophelia was dead and unable to generate body heat, she turned on the blanket's heater and dialled up the temperature as high as it would go. Ophelia could feel her muscles relax as the heated throw warmed her body. Roscoe was in 'heat heaven' as he stretched out under the blanket, allowing the throw's warmth into his tiny frame. It was almost as luxurious as a soak in a steaming bath.

Roscoe asked Ophelia for more blood tea, so they got up from their heated oasis and went to the kitchen. Ophelia set the kettle on the stove and then measured the blood tea powder into their cups: Ophelia's cup had three spoonfuls, and Roscoe's had two because his cup was smaller.

After tea, Ophelia looked out the window and noticed the sky was getting lighter. "C'mon, little man, it's bedtime. Let's get our nighties on and get comfy." 

Roscoe sported a nifty sleeping cap Ophelia had fashioned for him from an old nightie of hers. If he could see his reflection in a mirror, he would remark how dapper he looked.

 Instead, Roscoe settled for Ophelia admiring him and telling him he looked handsome and dashing. If vampire dogs could smile, Roscoe would be beaming.

The next night, Ophelia awoke with a sore throat and congested sinuses. Her throat was dry from breathing through her mouth all day while she slept. She went to the kitchen to put the kettle on for some blood tea that always perked her up, but today, the tea wasn't doing the trick. Ophelia boiled the water for a second cup. Roscoe came downstairs as Ophelia poured boiling water over the blood tea powder. She pulled a cup from the cupboard for Roscoe and poured him a cuppa. The pair walked into the living room and sat in the comfy chair, sipping and watching the world go by through the window.

Ophelia was still feeling ill, so she drew a hot bath and had a soak with Roscoe by her side. The heat from the water relaxed her sore muscles. In his little bath cap, Roscoe soaked in the heat and relaxed so much that Ophelia had to watch him to make sure he didn't slip under the water. 

The bath water was cooling, signalling it was time to get out of the tub. Ophelia stepped out first, then lifted Roscoe out of the water and onto the bath mat. He shook himself vigorously, splashing water droplets on the walls and floor. Ophelia had wrapped herself in a fluffy cotton bathrobe, then reached for Roscoe's bathrobe, a smaller version of hers. He loved his robe and would traipse around the house in it for hours after a bath unless they were going out hunting. Tonight was one of those nights when the pair stayed in.   

  

Ophelia had gone downstairs and put the kettle on for a cup of blood tea for each of them. That's as far as she got before a coughing jag put her on her knees in the kitchen. Roscoe heard Ophelia's coughing and went downstairs to investigate, where he found her prostrate on the floor, barely breathing. 

Roscoe was beside himself with fear and worry, and unsure of what to do in this situation. He'd never seen his mistress in such distress before. Ophelia was so weak that she needed assistance to get up from the floor. Roscoe attempted to lift her up and almost succeeded; at the last second, Ophelia started coughing again, and Roscoe couldn't hold on. As soon as her coughing fit subsided, Roscoe lifted her again, depositing her gently in her comfy chair. He retrieved the heated throw from the back of the chair, turned the heat setting to high, and covered Ophelia, tucking in the edges so no cool air could get in. The kettle was singing on the stove, so Roscoe turned off the gas. He didn't want to risk scalding himself trying to make blood tea, so he trotted downstairs to retrieve some bottles of blood. Ophelia would need the pure, unadulterated stuff to get better; blood tea wouldn't cut it. 

While Roscoe busied himself with his task, Ophelia was warming up under the heated throw. He brought up half a dozen bottles of blood; Ophelia got up to warm one in the microwave. She let Roscoe see how much time she put on the microwave so he could replicate it in a pinch. 

The thick, warm, red, silky blood went down like razor blades. Ophelia's throat was sore from coughing, and swallowing was so painful that tears of blood ran down her cheeks. 

Roscoe had started whining, a sound Ophelia hadn't heard him make before: he was very worried about Ophelia and was at a loss on how to help her get better.

In between sips of blood and coughing fits, Ophelia told Roscoe he was doing a good job of tending to her and not to worry; she was getting better under his care. He felt better about the situation after Ophelia reassured him that she was recovering.

After she'd drunk her blood, Ophelia went upstairs to the coffin bed, stretched out under the myriad blankets and quilts, and fell asleep. Roscoe was close behind her. It had been a trying night for both of them. He fell into a thin sleep, hoping that Ophelia would feel better after a good day's rest.

The next night, Ophelia awoke feeling much better than she had for the past week. She even contemplated going out to hunt but knew it was too soon after such a virulent illness, so she settled for a cuppa blood tea, which she sipped while watching the world go by through the living room picture window. Ophelia felt so much better that she eschewed the heated throw and sat in her bathrobe and slippers in her comfy chair.

"Thanks for taking care of me, Roscoe. I genuinely appreciate your help. I don't know how long this cough would have held on if you hadn't been nursing me, my precious little man." 

Roscoe beamed from his perch on Ophelia's lap. 

The pair drank their blood tea and gazed out the window.

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.