The Count

The Count.


“One…two…one……two”.
Monotonous. The shrill slap of shoe upon ancient limestone. Every step rattles. Resounds, breaks, and shatters again. The air is saturated with a dank musty odour: the type you would associate with old books and dead skin. The right wall is adorned with rows of decaying dusty volumes while generations of passive ancestors, with their curiously glazed eyes and reversible smiles glare intently from the left through a coating of dust. The flagstone floor grips my toes with its icy touch. This once grand manner, like a child rejected at birth now loathes its creator for its simple existence. Above me the bare shafts ache and groan as the infected walls steadily crumble. To the left, a square of roofing has passed away, and my chaperone- the pregnant glistening moon regards from a distance my enticing fate. I wait patiently while his sombre presence grows stronger still.

“One two one two”; he is only metres away now and his hostile presence grips me tight. Sanity would have me turn and run but his presence bids me to stay. A chill wind gusts through a lonely crack in the window, so obscured by grime that little light can penetrate. A silky rope of moonlight slips seductively through and illuminates one blessed spot.

My stomach twists as the crystal doorknob squeals. The hinges scream in delight while every hair on my body is stimulated to attention. The doorknob turns in steady anticipation. Gently and slowly a stereotypical creek of the hinges announces his presence. You cannot escape his silent call; it is as potent as the grave.

He stands tall in a traditional evening suit- black as midnight. The incredible power in his broad shoulders ignites me with a thrilling dread and his posture is perfect, almost aristocratic. Who is this man who wishes to speak with me? Who occupies such a vast, yet lonely domain?

Ugly portraits of deceased relatives still glare uncompromisingly as tonight, the event for which I have waited so long unfolds mysteriously and unpredictably. Their deep hollow pupils whisper softly to me. Tauntingly- as if they utter the sacred secrets of generations in an unknown language. Their canvas eyes possess the wisdom of a millennium yet the ignorance of a fool. They all have in common some features of my host. That immaculate posture and those strong, high cheekbones- immaculately carved. My prophetic audience waits. A dramatic irony.

My host statically examines me. He begins at my forehead, moving down to my toes, and focusing intently for a moment on my bare neck, and naked veins. The immaculate ruffles in his shirt glow with a bone-white purity as slowly my frigid eyes scale his loathsome features. His small feet point gently outwards, and a sharp trouser crease follows up to his muscular thigh. His brittle fingers curl like the corpses of withered leaves and his crusty ivory nails stand pert and victorious. His rigid torso upholds a proud defence while the sweet rank whiff of rotting flesh consumes the air. There is so much power in his presence and stance that he is either a cultured beast, or a man-awesome in abnormality. This dirty animal is distastefully despicable. The addictive ambience of solace preserves this scene in immortality.

His suit wrinkles now as his broad shoulders rise sharply. He pauses. And with one withered finger strokes my strawberry cheek. His touch is as gentle as a light summer breeze but as harsh and cold as death. What kind of a being creates in me such a sense of enticing awe and yet provokes such a violent cringe at the very acknowledgement of his presence? What creature in his proximity creates such a feeling of dreamlike reality in such an animated nightmare? My eyes climb his lean, sturdy neck, gripping his cruelly projecting veins while his gross chilling breath caresses my temple. With a sudden snap he jerks my shivering chin towards the heavens and I am half forced half compelled to view the full face of my captor.

His face is hard and masculine- it toils in morning and yet endures in cruelty while his skin is pale though youthful. His ears are small and pointed and his peppered hair is long. It separates in to slimy strings, like the worms that consume the dead- tamed as though with lard or grease. A noble nose adds further misery to his loathsome features, while low beastly eyebrows prove him stern and unshakeable and the grey fleshy sacks that line his eyes contrast startlingly with his pallid complexion.

His sapphire eyes are the ores of lust. They are a cool turquoise but blaze like
hell itself. They flow with an immortal beauty and yet house the sorrow of a thousand broken hearts. A piercing harp song that grazes yet soothes. My face is fixed now on those mesmerising orbs that swirl and morph with an everlasting appeal. His grim face creases into a devilish smirk and I could not move if I wanted to. He is a perfect despicable beast with an addictively cold confidence and a sadistic disposition.

I am still frozen as his voluptuous lips pulse in a provocative pout. Fertile lips. Poisonous lips. They seep beautiful life and yet possess all the repulsive qualities of a corpse. His frosted teeth are as white as doves and his canines protrude like alpine peaks. Long immortal sharpened canines- yes they are perfect. Glistening milky pearls- Penetrating beauty. Two perfect splinters of fresh snow. Strong like the canines of a wolf or bat they could snap shut onto a diamond without shattering. They could rip the flesh of a fresh corpse in a second without remorse. They are the crown jewels on a bed of crimson. Rich red lips frame those jagged white teeth that conceal the black of his heart.

My stomach contracts and my eyes droop. The sickening scene becomes a blurred haze. This rejected mansion begins to rotate as I stare- stare into those mourning gemstone eyes. From turquoise to neon, sapphire to jasper now burn, now scold and penetrate the darkness. Where is the moon? She is hidden now behind a thick smog. And all I see is your eyes that penetrate deep into this darkness that craves you. Oh and your teeth. Beautiful teeth. Famished teeth. Seductive teeth.

I am a fly in a spider’s web. Those hard enamel teeth now perch precariously
on my neck. His ghastly eyes are still glowing an infernal fire-red and they illuminate the room in a hellish neon blaze. They say that the eyes are a window to the soul. Squeezing. squeezing. My delicate pale skin is taught, and finally he bores through- a permanent scar. Two immaculate gaping holes in my flesh. They are perfectly round, with jagged, slightly raised rims. They are black holes from which no light reflects and they shout out from my barren pale skin. See now how you wail ghastly monster. Yes your hunger pains will consume you still- because, my fiend, I do not bleed.
Not a single drop of that crimson brew that so encapsulates you will ooze from these veins. This beast is famished and he had hoped that in coming to him I would be his meal. Those ghoulish eyes flame brighter now. So bright they are almost blinding. They are the only source of light now the beautiful moon is hidden away and they taint and twist every aspect of this regrettable scenario- including my own sanity. In his rage, he thrusts those spidery fingers into my flowing blonde hair, and lifts me from the ground. He notices in shear astonishment that above those freshly carved caves in my neck lay two parallel blemishes. They are pink dots. Scars of former injuries. And they are identical in size and shape, and distance apart. They are just faint specks now on my pale, blushless, naked neck. Oh ghastly beast, don’t you remember? I met you once before.

Did you wish for me to squeal and squirm an ear-piercing cry like a young girl should? While your creepy murdering fingers grip my soft clean hair and your eyes pour over my every scream? Oh and you would so love to feast upon my fear. That would satisfy your hunger until you find yourself another naive victim. I part my plump scarlet lips that seem to leap off my bloodless face. I open my mouth as wide as it will go. He is stunned to see my two white daggers, longer than the rest of my perfectly aligned teeth. And they stand out, and glow against the shadowy backdrop of my mouth. They are purest white- like the tips of snow-capped mountains. So I let out a load patronising laugh. So loud and so potent it shatters the silence into a million pieces.

Startled, his grip weakens. I drop to the ground and land in cat like elegance. With one determined arm I thrust his withering body to the ground and he lands with a prominent thud that reflects and rebounds through every room and every corridor in this aging wretched place. I can be sure that he will never forget that empty hollow echo. He lies there on the filthy flaw and he is pathetic, maybe concussed. He twitches and groans but seems to have no grip on reality. His power and his might have crumbled he has nothing over me now. He is just a creature, dying at my feet. He is dying, because it is not blood he feasts on, but the fear of his victims as he pursues their veins. He thrives in an overflowing delight to see his helpless victims beg for mercy while he teases and taunts their maiden souls. He is overcome with the greatest of pleasures to see their frail hands shake and their watery eyes melt like ice cream in the sun. He eats fear and consumes tears. Blood is simply the farm on which his food is grown.

My stilettos clip against the cold limestone as I walk confidently towards this writhing beast. He is shaking and now all I see in his evil eyes is submissive cowardly fear. With one foot on the floor I place the other on his chest. And I dig my sharp heal in to his ribs. Churning past his bones, cork- screwing through his meaty tendons and straight into the centre of his shrivelled blackened heart.