A Tale of Blood

Discussion in 'Original Works' started by thestoryman, Jul 16, 2009.

  1. thestoryman

    thestoryman Is it safe?

    Jul 5, 2009
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    Kalgoorlie, Western Australia
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    From my website www.goblinsandgalaxies.com
    Short stories and small novels for 8-12 years olds

    Comments welcome

    A Tale of Blood

    Count Vilkor the Vampire paced up and down the corridor with long, impatient strides. His inky black cloak billowing behind him like the wings of some monstrous bat. As he paced he kept glancing at a door that had a wolf’s fearsome head carved in it.

    A baby was crying somewhere in the room behind it and it had his nerves on edge. His pale, bloodless face looked very worried and his glowing, crimson eyes blinked nervously.

    Suddenly the door opened and out hurried a young woman in a flowing white dress. Her skin was moonlight pale and her eyes crimson like the Count’s. She was a vampiress and was carrying a silver tray with a baby’s bottle on it.

    The Count raised a hand with long bony fingers and nails that were black like claws to halt her. Yet she hurried past him without a pause, gliding quickly down the corridor. He was stunned at being ignored, but said nothing as the baby's crying was now approaching a deafening wail.

    He began to pace nervously again until the vampiress shortly returned, carrying the tray again with another baby’s bottle. Before he could say anything she opened the door, slipped into the room and shut it behind her.

    Angry that he had been ignored again, the shadows deepened around him as if they shared his bleak mood. He began to pace again, but had only taken several steps when the baby's wails suddenly ceased.

    A dread silence filled the air.

    Then the door opened again and an elderly woman stepped out. She was dressed in sooty black robes and wore a tall, pointy black hat with red roses embroided around its brim.

    'Well, Mother Rose?' Count Vilkor hissed as he loomed above her. ‘How is my son?’

    'We need to talk, Count,' Mother Rose the witch replied firmly.

    'Bats breath, Mother! What’s wrong with him?' he asked anxiously. ‘Is it serious?’

    'That depends on what you consider serious,' she replied mysteriously and turned away.

    The Count followed, his head bowed in deep concern for his new child. They passed down a few dank and dingy corridors till they approached a set of double doors. The Count waved a hand at them and one opened inwards by itself.

    Mother Rose led him into a large furnished room, the air lit with moonlight shining though tall arched windows. He went over to a wooden cabinet against one wall and lifted a crystal bottle filled with dark red liquid.

    'Would you like a glass of A or O blood, Mother?' he asked. 'I'm out of B at the moment.'

    Mother Rose gave the Count a patient smile, used to nervous fathers.

    'I think I'll have a glass of wine if you don't mind, Count,' she replied.

    'Oh... of course,' he replied as he realized his error. 'Sorry.'

    'Think nothing of it.'

    The Count poured some drinks, a glass of red wine for Mother Rose and a glass of O type blood for himself.

    'Now, please tell me!' he asked as he handed her the glass. 'What’s wrong with my son?'

    Mother Rose took a sip of wine as she eyed the Count thoughtfully.

    'Count, your son cannot drink blood,' she replied bluntly.

    The Count's glass dropped from his hand, falling to the floor and shattering. Mother Rose gave a start as something darted out from the shadows of a cold fireplace a few yards away. It was small, fury and snarling and it started to the lick the spilled blood up.

    Count Vilkor paid no attention to it, his face even paler if that was possible for a vampire. His mouth opened, revealing a set of long fangs. He tried to say something, but all that came out was a gurgling noise that sounded like someone drowning.

    'Here Count, sit down,' Mother Rose said as she guided the stricken vampire to a couch.

    She fixed him another drink of blood and put the glass into his trembling hands. He took a long swallow and finally found his voice.

    'That... that bottle the vampiress took into the room…’

    'It was milk, Count,' Mother Rose replied.

    The Count winced as if he’d been slapped.

    'Milk!' he groaned. 'How... how can a vampire drink milk and not blood?'

    'Well... he is not exactly a vampire either, Count,' she replied.

    He fixed her with a deep crimson stare.

    'What do you mean he's not a vampire?' he asked in a voice as cold as a tomb.

    'Well, some things about him are vampirish,' she replied. 'He has slightly tapering ears and even a set of early fangs, but...'

    'But what?'

    'Well... he is... well, he isn’t dead.'

    'Of course he's not dead!’ The Count exclaimed. ‘I heard his wailing!'

    'You misunderstand me, Count. He's alive... like me.’

    'You mean he's not... undead?' he asked aghast.

    Mother Rose shook her head.

    'Absolutely not. His skin is a healthy pink and his eyes a nice blue.'

    'That... that’s impossible!' the Count said in disbelief.

    'Actually, it is possible,' she replied, patting the vampire reassuringly on a shoulder. 'You see, your son has inherited this from one of your ancestors... from your great, great grandmother I believe. She’s buried in the castle grounds isn’t she?’

    He nodded, taking a nervous drink from his glass.

    ‘Yes, she is,’ he replied.

    'That’s not usual for a vampire, is it?'

    'No. We might like to sleep in coffins, but we’re never… buried in them!’ he ended with a shudder at the thought.

    'But not your great, great grandmother?’

    The Count nodded, tried to speak but sounded like he was drowning again.

    'It’s all right, Count, your wife has told me everything. Your great, great grandmother wasn’t a vampire, was she?'

    The Count shook his head numbly.

    'It’s a shameful blot on our family, Mother!' he replied. 'My great, great grandfather thought she was so beautiful he couldn't bring himself to make her a vampire.'

    'And that’s the reason why your son is not quite a vampire,' Mother Rose said. 'It’s like how normal folk have blonde hair or green eyes, they get it from their ancestors. So whilst he has inherited some vampire traits from you, he also inherited some from his great, great grandmother. It’s the reason why he can’t drink blood and I gave him milk. It’s the only thing he can have till he can eat solid food.’

    'Milk! Solid food!’ the Count groaned in dismay. 'He’ll be a laughing stock amongst vampires. What shall I do?'

    'Well, your great, great grandmother lived and died happily amongst vampires, Count. There’s no reason why your son couldn’t do the same,' Mother Rose replied, then paused as she eyed him thoughtfully. 'Of course, you could always put him for adoption...'

    The Count suddenly reared out of his chair, dark shadows enveloping him so that he seemed twice as large.

    'My son adopted?' he hissed. 'A vampire prince living amongst… the living! Never! We’ll just have to make some… adjustments, that’s all.’

    Mother Rose smiled, happy at bringing another baby into a loving, if somewhat unusual family.

    'A noble decision, Count,’ she said, then added as afterthought. ‘And just think, he probably won’t have to worry about sunlight or garlic.’
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  2. Black Tattoo

    Black Tattoo The Corruptor

    Feb 3, 2006
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    Buckle of the Snow Belt (AKA Michigan)
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    Kinda of a neat conversation going here...I like it. I like the ideas you bring to light too. You have to admit it's not a common point in most stories. :D