A GREASY BLACK SMEAR

By Gail Fulkerson

It was an ordinary evening in Ophelia’s world. She and Roscoe awoke after dark and padded downstairs to the kitchen. Ophelia took a mason jar of blood from the refrigerator, set it on the counter to warm, and put the kettle on for blood tea. 

“Do you want a strong cuppa blood tea, little man, or will a regular one do?” she asked Roscoe. He told his mistress to make him a strong cuppa tea. He preferred it after a good day’s sleep.

After their drinks, Ophelia and Roscoe got ready to hunt, donning heavy coats, scarves, gloves, and a warm hat. The clothing wasn’t required, but Ophelia wanted to avoid standing out as they prowled Saskatoon for prey.

It didn’t take long. Rounding a corner, they came upon an older woman deep in thought, not paying attention to her surroundings. She was perfect. Ophelia and Roscoe passed her on the sidewalk, then turned to follow her. 

On the way home, the woman stopped for a lottery ticket and hot chocolate. The pair accosted her before she could take a sip. The drink spilled onto the sidewalk, staining it like congealed blood.

Ophelia went for the woman’s jugular; Roscoe tore open her ankle, and they fed hungrily. The tea and blood they’d had before leaving home had been digested, and their stomachs were empty.

Pulling out some blood bags, Ophelia filled two before the woman ran out of blood. They must have been famished, Ophelia thought, since it had been some time since she’d reaped only two bags. 

She checked Roscoe for blood and found none, unlike herself. Somehow, she’d dribbled blood down her chin and onto her bright white nightie, leaving a long, thin stain. She closed and zipped her coat, picked up Roscoe, and flew home. Ophelia detested stained clothes. 

Ophelia headed straight for the basement and pre-treated her nightie with an enzyme soak that worked wonders on blood stains. Then she laundered it with her other bright white nighties. After they dried, she checked the fronts and couldn’t tell which one had the long stain. The enzyme soak had done its job admirably.

“How ’bout a cuppa blood tea and a soak in the tub, Roscoe?” He woofed in agreement and shot up the stairs, overshot the bathroom door, and skittered across the floor to get inside before Ophelia reached the last stair. 

 “Oops, I forgot to make us a cuppa blood tea to sip while we soak in the tub,” remarked Ophelia. “Guess we’ll have our drinks after our bath.”

Ophelia was in the tub, and she picked Roscoe up off the bath mat and placed him between her knees. The duo relaxed in the hot water until it began to cool. She pulled the plug and waited for the water to drain before she and Roscoe got out. 

She dried herself, wrapped Roscoe in a thick towel, and floated downstairs to the kitchen, where she prepared their tea. Roscoe’s bowl had extra ice cubes so he wouldn’t burn his little mouth. Ophelia took their drinks into the living room and sat in her comfy chair facing the picture window. The pair sipped and watched the world go by. 

The eastern sky began to lighten. Ophelia yawned, picked up Roscoe, and headed upstairs to the coffin bed. Roscoe jumped from her arms onto the bed, burrowing into the blankets and afghans before settling in. Ophelia got into bed and got comfy, too.

Night came and went, but neither Ophelia nor Roscoe stirred. On the third night, Ophelia stirred but did not awaken. Roscoe moved a bit, but like his mistress, he did not wake. It would be a week before either of them woke up.

Ophelia felt weak and needed blood desperately. Roscoe was almost beyond saving, but Ophelia got him to drink from her wrist. He had a hard time latching on, but after a few sips, his strength began to return bit by bit.

She knew what was happening. Ophelia Banks and her little dog Roscoe were nearing the end of their lives as vampires. The old stories of vampires living for centuries left out one fact: vampires have an expiration date. No one knows when they’ll die; it is a surprise, just like human death. A vampire could be filling blood bags and expire mid-reap. When a vampire dies, all that’s left behind is a black smear of greasy dust.

A few weeks later, Ophelia found what was left of Roscoe in their bed. He had expired in his sleep; all that remained was a tell-tale little smear of greasy black dust in the top right corner, where Roscoe usually slept. She cried blood tears for hours.

Not long afterwards, Ophelia awoke in the daytime and found herself smouldering in her bed. She put out the small flames and changed into a clean, bright white nightie. Then she took the singed blankets and afghans off the bed and tossed them down the basement stairs. She would see to them after she awoke after dark.

But Ophelia never woke up after dark. She died in her sleep and left a greasy black smear on the blankets and afghans, just like Roscoe some weeks earlier. When dawn came, the coffin bed was empty except for the stain.

Thus ended the reign of the vampire duo who prowled the streets of Saskatoon, and the night went on without them.

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.