TEA OF OFFBEAT BLENDS

By Gail Fulkerson

It came in the mail on a Thursday afternoon, wrapped in brown paper and cancelled stamps. It was the tea Ophelia ordered, the blended stuff with names like ‘fuck off, leave me alone, I’m drinking tea; ho ho holy sh*t; and calm the f down.’ As shocking as the names were, the tea was excellent. Her favourite blend was the ho ho holy sh*t, with notes of peppermint, stevia, and sweet vanilla. It mixed well with the blood powder in her cup. Roscoe hated the blended stuff, preferring the original mixture of black tea and blood powder. 

Ophelia went down to the basement to retrieve six bottles of blood and brought them up to the kitchen. She put five of them in the fridge and left one on the counter to come to room temperature, for their breakfast before going out to prowl the streets of Saskatoon. 

Roscoe waited at the front door for his mistress to layer on her coat, scarf, hat, boots, and gloves, before snapping on his leash. The two of them stepped onto the front porch, closing and locking the door behind them, then turned left towards the rail yard to throttle some rats before going for the big prize - a human.

It didn’t take long for the pair to snatch up a dozen rats, snap their necks and then drink their blood. The blood was decent enough, comfortably warming and filling a few small corners in their stomachs. Now they were off for the main prize of a corpulent man or woman to round out the evening’s hunt. 

They didn’t have long to wait, for a rotund woman was gingerly making her way down the icy sidewalk towards them. Ophelia watched as the woman slipped, then righted herself as she carried on towards her home. The next slip put the woman on her back. As she gained her footing, Ophelia jumped on her and bit deeply into the woman’s neck, drawing blood. It tasted coppery, like bright, shiny pennies. It had been some time since she’d tasted pure, unadulterated blood, so she slowly savoured the sanguine drink. The woman died there on the sidewalk in front of her house as Ophelia pulled blood bags from her coat and filled five of them before the woman ran dry. Roscoe was at the woman’s ankles, lapping blood from a wound he’d torn open.

The pair of killers sauntered off into the darkness of the streets, the blood bags safely stowed, as they headed for home. It had been some time since they walked home from a kill, and the cold air was refreshing. Arriving home, Ophelia unlocked the front door and entered the dark house, turning on the living room light. She headed for the basement to decant the blood bags into clean mason jars, then up to the kitchen to put the kettle on for blood tea. 

Roscoe had stepped out of his hunting harness and was waiting, somewhat impatiently, for his bowl of black tea and blood powder. His paws were cold, like little ice cubes, and he lay on them in a vain attempt to warm them even a little. 

Ophelia poured the boiled water over their blood tea and allowed it to steep for a few minutes, then poured some cold water into Roscoe’s bowl so he wouldn’t burn his mouth, and walked into the living room with their drinks. She then took the heated blanket off the back of her comfy chair, turned the dial to its highest setting, and wrapped herself and Roscoe in it, tucking in all the edges to keep the cold air out. 

After tea and warming up under the blanket, Roscoe’s feet still felt like little blocks of ice, so Ophelia took him upstairs to warm his paws in a hot bath. That did the trick: his paws were nice and toasty after the soak. 

“Want to go back to the living room for another cuppa tea, or would you rather go to bed?” queried Ophelia. Roscoe was always up for blood tea, so he stated his preference and down to the kitchen they went to brew another cup before bedtime. He licked his bowl clean again and again, waiting for Ophelia to finish her tea.

“How about we float upstairs to bed, little man?” asked Ophelia. Roscoe nodded in agreement and then floated up the stairs to the coffin bed, where he found his spot and snuggled in. Ophelia got in and locked the coffin bed lid, then settled in for a full day of sleep as the sun broke the horizon.

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.