In the latter part of the Nineteenth
century
Count Dracula was banished to a small
island
within Lake Snagov, deep in the remote
wildernesses of Romania. There he was
free to
roam within the boundries set by the
still,
black waters of the lake. Escape was
impossible, for a vampire cannot cross
an
open
body of water on his own, even conveyed
in
such as a boat or barge. The old vampire
spent his cursed existence reading,
writing
dark, disturbing verse and endeavoring
to
catch such small animals as he could and
drink ther blood. In the
beginning, his nights were leavened by
groups
of tourists who, having heard of the
Prince
of Evil's captivity, would pay an
exorbitant
fee to be chauffeured through the dark
waters
of Lake Snagov in a sputtering old boat,
courtesy of a local fisherman. Not that
he
particularly enjoyed the gaggles of
gawking
tourists; sitting in his study he could
smell
the fresh blood even before he heard the
putt-putting of the boat--the temptation
was enough to drive an old vampire mad.
He
almost preferred the solitude. One
especially gloomy night, while the
melancholy
moaning of the loon interspersed with
the
quizzical hooting of the owl wafted to
and
fro on the damp chill air, Count Dracula
sat
by a window overlooking the lake,
composing a
particularly dark piece of verse.
Slipping gradually from his nocturnal
reverie
he became aware of the distinct scent of
blood, HUMAN blood, carried on the thick
autumn air. FRESH human blood he almost
said
out loud, though there was no one to
hear.
Scanning the dim outline of the
lakeshore
with his hyper-acute vision he observed
a
lone figure in a rowboat slowly
approaching.
It had been years since any tourists had
come, the novelty of a captive vampire
had
apparently worn off. he was, as far as
he
knew, forgotten by the world.
It was a lonely
existence.
Even for one of the undead.
It
began:
Blood of Life and
Drink
of
Death
lake of black and
formless
depth
drink deeply down to quench my
thirst
I would drown in both but
which
one first?
"Any
soul so
foolhardy to row out here alone in the
middle
of the night must desire the privilege
of my
acquaintance dearly," he said aloud,
though
as before, there was no one to hear. "I
shall
open my home to him and make him most
welcome indeed, resisting the unnatural
impulse which stirs in my long unbeating
heart."
The dark Count thereupon
donned
his
cape, polished his amulet (for even the
undead can be prideful of their
appearance) ,
and sat down to wait upon his midnight
caller.
It wasn't long before there
was a
rapping at his ancient chamber's door.
Dracula opened it and announced with
great
satisfaction: "I am Dracula, I bid you
welcome."
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