Forgetting Dracula -Prologue-

1

The streets are awful bright, the rugged cobblestone eating hungrily at the soles of my shoes. “Sir, Yes; you sir . . . care for a shave?” The air is full of people quoting that movie, what was it again? Sweeney Todd? Yes, that must be it. Man driven insane by losing the world over, interesting topic. “Vampire, vampire!” The word hangs in the air, so much so to the point where I can hardly breathe. Dirty children run, dull stakes splintering their tiny hands while they tackle each other at the knees, going for the heart. They hiss, pulling their shirts over their heads at the feeling of UV light. “Careful!” A voluminous woman calls, pulling a boy into her bosom and suffocating him well. 2

The sky is stirring, unusual, creamy and thick like pudding. Every second passing by, becoming like ancient milk and the clouds lazy as to remain the same. Out of the rubble of the decaying city, a magnificent church rises up like a deity, hovering and watching us all. Girls crowd at the church gates, annoying the stone gargoyles, seemingly trying to go for a lively growl they will not receive. Not much of importance and I have merely one thing to say about that. ‘Young, curious of the strange and the sex.’ And all these parents are wishing to teach their prized, dowry daughters one thing alone: to beware of the fangs at midnight. Eyes burn into my back, hoping in the theory of spontaneous human combustion and without turning I know the owner of these killer eyes. “Now, now father . . . ” I say, twisting on my heels, the cracking of random bones accompanying the motion. “No need to state, pictures are much more helpful these days.” A small smirks joins my lips as a frowns pulls his lips downward. 3

His decrepit, bony fingers fondle a crucifix at his neck, attempting to harness whatever holy magic it could give. “This is no place for you, Nikolause . . . ” Weakness spills through him, every piece of confidence pouring out into the grimy streets. I had almost forgotten that his voice was even older then him, cracking with fear and sounding so lame as lion lost of fangs. If I ever get the chance to meet ‘God’, I might have to ask him why he chose such weak and simplistic men to lead the world around. 4

Again to his great disapproval, I come closer like a hunter clutching his prey with a selfish grip. “No place for me? Perhaps I would wish to sing in your choir...” Another glare sits in his eyes, covered with the wrinkles of age and sins. Darkness in his cloudy blue eyes sets and I am reminded of the phrase ‘if only eyes could kill’ I’d be dead a million times over. “Or maybe I’ll just suck one of your girls dry?” The scent of fear is thick in his sweat and again my mythical presences proves to be a great asset in this God-Forsaken town. 5

“You wouldn’t dare...” The uncertainty is amazing; like a bone eating disease, his shrinking before my eyes. I know it’s been said that God never makes mistakes but believe me, God made a grand mistake in choosing this man for a voice to the people below. Foolish ole man, How thoughtless to believe that God can save one from themselves.6

“No, of course I wouldn’t.” I say, smirking through the words and reminding him there maybe protection against Dracula but he knows all too well that I am no Dracula and much more of a nightmare in terms of that. “Never...for a fee...” Perhaps I am reminding him to much of the Mafia and their demands for ‘protection funds’ but they were successful, were they not? “A modest fee...” 7

“And exactly where do you expect this fee from?” He says, sneering through his teeth, hoping for that single bolt that will take me down. ‘The church has no money for you...” His voice is shaking again, for he knows I have caught him in his grandest lie. 8

“But for you there is unlimited?” My hand snaps to his throat, pulling him close and tearing the fabric of his collar. Fear drenches him throughly and insanity is on the brink of him. “Answer!” I yell, my fangs sharpening under the feeling. Sweat dripping like rain from his brow, soaking my sleeves in salty disgust. And second by second, his uselessness increases and I shall use it to my advantage. 9

“Bastard!” He says, driven to profanity and battling with whatever is within reach, also a grand mistake on his part. “Leave me be!” His wrinkled hands push against my cheek, forcing my face away so my fangs will not find a home in him. Before even another word is spoken between us a golden crucifix cuts into me, shredding skin, muscles and whatever-else may lie in its path. A screams bellows out from my chest, the immense pain making my voice shatter out and interrupt the lives of the simple town-people. 10

“Son of a B-“ I pause, the innocent eyes of children glancing my way, dropping their stakes and running to hind behind the skirts of mothers and the slacks of fathers. “I mean . . . ” I say, stuttering under the sudden attention. Whispers are sent around from ear to ear, mouth to mouth, the smell of fear becoming only strong as the seconds pass me by. The sounds of hearts growing louder as accusations are passed around at the knowledge of something harmed at the touch of a crucifix...my cover is blown for sure.