Lighthouse

Lighthouse

A story I’ve told before. I will tell it again tonight.

1880

He’d been found in the ocean, wearing a formal jacket with tails and clinging to the top of a grand piano. Underneath the man was a large gray wolfhound.

The captain of the ship that had picked him up said that he didn’t seem to remember much, or maybe did not want to remember. The dog, named Delilah, wouldn’t leave the side of her master.

At first they thought it was a ship wreck but it ended up being a complicated and strange mystery. The ship, a 200 ton brigantine had left Port of Talcahuano, in Chile three months before the mysterious man had been found in the Pacific Ocean north of San Francisco. Not a soul was on the ship, except the Captain who’d been found with a gun in his hand and what looked like a fatal self-inflicted bullet wound in his head. The life boats were still on the ship, as well as a cargo of wine and explosives, and the personal belongings of the few passengers and crew.

A break in an unusually strong and violent series of storms allowed them to dock and drop the man on the piano lid and his wolfhound off at the home of the lighthouse keeper’s family.

The lighthouse keeper checked in on the man who was sleeping in his guest room, dog curled by the bed. He could tell the stranger was wealthy by the quality of his clothing, the expensive watch and ring, and the formal refined way he’d spoken. His locked trunk had been recovered from the abandoned ship and now was at the foot of the bed.

The stranger said his name was Maxwell. He told them to call him Max. The first night there he’d drawn exquisite pictures for the light keeper’s wife of palm trees, and of beautiful women in fashionable dresses, and native women of South America with unusual hats and full colorful skirts. Over brandy he told them that he was 31 years old, born in 1849 when his pregnant mother had come out with his father for the California Gold Rush. Now he resided in San Francisco.

“What is your occupation? “The lighthouse keeper’s daughter Jayne asked the stranger,  fully well expecting him to say he was involved in a rich family business, or lived off of the wealth of his forebears.

He looked at her with hazel eyes, that she would have sworn were dark brown earlier that evening. “I am in law enforcement of a sorts, like detective, or a marshal. I seek out those who are particularly evil. I had apprehended a ruthless and violent fiend in South America and was on my way home. Unfortunately on the ship…” he paused and glanced up for a second, then back at the family of the lighthouse keeper. “On the ship I found myself taken by surprise and overwhelmed. It is a story I will tell you later, but now I must sleep, or I’ll end up under the table here.”

So he retired for the night. That was two days ago. He still slept as quiet and cold as death, but not dead. The dog lay by the foot of the bed thumping her tail whenever anyone came near.

A storm raged outside. The weather didn’t allow anyone to go get a doctor. His wife assured him that the man called Max just needed to rest. It made sense considering the man had been clinging to a piano lid and floating in the freezing ocean for days before he was picked up.

Despite the storm Lighthouse Keeper’s wife climbed up a ladder to fix a shutter that was almost ready to fly away with the wind. As she reached the window the ladder fell and she crashed to the ground below. All went black except the feeling of being carried inside.

Max put her down in a large chair by the fire and took her broken arm in his icy hands. “Close your eyes,” he whispered. She could feel his hands heat up and warm her wrist. The pain turned to numbness. She opened her eyes and could see a look of pain on his face, then he smiled and kissed her forehead.

“You’re arm is still broken, but the bones have started to mend enough for you not to need a splint.”

“You? You healed me,” she said.

“Yes. It is a gift. Keep the knowledge to yourself or people will think we are both insane.” He then touched a forming bruise on her forehead, making that pain, along with the bruise go away as well.

During the night the storm broke up. Sunshine came out between the clouds. Jayne convinced Max to walk down to the docks to pick up some fish for the night’s dinner.

She held his arm as they strolled along the road.

“Your glasses are so dark. I noticed your eyes turned from hazel to brown when we went outside,” said Jayne.

“My eyes are sensitive to the sun. I have three younger brothers, and a younger sister. Two of them have eyes that do the same as mine, that is change color,” he said, then changed the subject. “Do you like living here Jayne.”

“I love my family. I love the ocean. I don’t being in a small town with nothing but fish and lumber. I’d like to see more of the world before I’m expected to find a husband.”

“Do you want to be married Jayne?”

“Maybe,” said Jayne, “I can move to Utah and take two husbands. Women can vote in Utah and Wyoming. Why not here?”

“Because men are ignorant and barbaric my dear Jayne. They’re afraid that if you vote you’ll be smarter and more just than they are. The don’t want to give up their power to someone who might do a better job. By the way, men of a certain faith may have more than one wife but I do not believe a woman is allowed two husbands in Utah. You would have to go to Tibet for that.”

Jayne laughed. “To be truthful, even one husband would be too many for me right now. I don’t need anyone to own me right now.” She tugged on his arm. “You’re so different.”

“How am I different? I’m just like any other man.”

“You healed my mother’s arm. You survived almost a week in the icy ocean’s water hanging onto a piano top with nothing but the clothes on your back and a dog. Your eyes change color. Your skin feels like ice. You are unbelievably attractive. I am stating a fact about your looks. But I only want your friendship. Even with the oddness I like you. I feel as if we have been friends for a long long time. Where are you really from Maxwell? Who are your people?”

He smiled and took off his glasses. His eyes were hazel again. “Where I come from men and women are equal. We live quietly. We live honestly among each other. What I am about to tell you will sound strange, but we live on the edge between life and death. We walk in the world of sunlight, but also walk in the land of the shadows and do not fear death or God.”

“I would like to go there with you. I would earn my way. I could be a lady detective.”

“It is not easy to live in my world Jayne.”

“No world is easy Max,” she said then smiled and pulled the comb out of her hair letting it blow in the wind. “Do you have a sweetheart at home?”

Max hesitated then spoke. “There is a woman I have a strong connection with, but I will never love her.”

“Is she married?”

“No. It isn’t like that. We met when I was at the University. So was she, which is odd unto itself. She knows my thoughts. She knows my desires. But she is not the one. What about you Jayne?”

“I was engaged to a man who knew neither my thoughts or desires, and had no intention on learning either. He thought I belonged to him body and soul, not in the way of love, but as property to be owned and controlled. He was jealous to the point of rage if I would speak with another man. He was even jealous of the boys I teach at the school and demanded I quit my teaching job. I would rather die than live a life where someone else controlled my body, my thoughts, my job, and my every whim. That is why I am no longer engaged to him.” Then laughed and ran to the end of the pier and let the wind blow through her hair and laughed some more.

Max marveled at the way she was so free thinking and full of life. He saw so much death and sorrow in his line of work that now with Jayne he felt renewed. She was sunshine in his dark world of shadows and night.

Hours later in the quiet of the night, the wind died own, and the moon hung in a thin crescent in the sky. Max walked along the beach with his dog Delilah. The taste of fresh blood and wine was in his mouth and the cold comfort of the night had settled into his soul. Delilah ran ahead, then the dog started to bark. Ahead of him Max saw a bloody figure crumpled on the rocks. His heart sank. It was Jayne.

Max picked her up and carried her home. He knew what had happened. She’d gone out to look at the stars and was attacked by a man she’d jilted. She’d spoken briefly about it when they’d walked earlier in the day. She had turned away the advances of a hot headed man who wanted her as his own. In the afternoon the man had walked past them, giving Jayne a look like a mad dog when he saw her holding Max’s arm.

He put her on her bed as her parents and brothers gathered around. As still as death, and as cold as the sea, they watched life drained out of her.

Jayne’s mother put her hand on Max’s arm. “Can you heal her, like you healed me?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “If I do she will never be the same, not like she was before. She won’t be crippled or lose herself, she will be… she will be like me.”

“Save her, then find the man who did this to her,” said the Lighthouse Keeper.

“You do not know what you ask,” said Max.

“You put a spark back in her eyes I have not seen in ages. Please save her if you can.”

“Let me be alone with her and she will not die.”

In the morning a man’s body washed up on the beach. It looked as if dogs had torn out his throat. His face was a mask of fear.

Two weeks later Jayne kissed her family good-by and went with Max on the next ship to San Francisco.

2017

Max stood in his living room with a glass of wine in his hand as he looked at the view of the Pacific Ocean and the Golden Gate Bridge. He couldn’t imagine getting tired of it. He glanced over to see Jayne, wearing a short black dress and looking gorgeous as always, coming towards him. He kissed her cool cheek. She smiled with just a touch of fang showing.

“Are you staying with Pierce tonight?” Max asked.

“Of course I am. I take it Mehitabel is staying here,” said Jayne.

Max glanced at a small pretty woman across the room. He suddenly thought of what he’d told Jayne about her so many years ago on the walk to the docks. Odd that when he was out in the ocean, clinging onto a piano top of all things, he had thought of Mehitabel. He might ask but he was never sure what she would say. No, he wouldn’t ask, he’d just wait to see what would happen, but he was sure she’d stay.

“I’m sure she’ll stay,” he told Jayne.

They talked for a while longer, about work, about friends, and about how the sunset sparkled on the ocean. Max wasn’t always one for words, but he knew that Jayne knew that they’d always be friends. Maybe even before they had ever met.

Then Jayne laughed. “I still can’t believe you were clinging to a piano lid.”

And Max had to laugh along.

~ End

 

~ Juliette aka Vampire Maman

Short Story Sunday: Beauty

“I only picked a rose. Just one rose, and now I must be his,” said Papa as he packed his bags.

“Wait, why, what? The beast we hear of in the forest wants you? For a flower? What a douche. Why were you there picking flowers?” Beauty was flustered by her Papa’s story.

“I wanted a flower for your sister Joy. It is her birthday and she has been so depressed since her baby was born,” said Papa.

Poor Joy had tried to be happy but she was tired and sad. Her husband was caring and tried to give her the joy she was named after.

Joy stood in the doorway, her baby in her arms. “It is my fault dear Papa. I will take your place.”

Beauty looked at her sister. Joy should have been named Beauty. She glowed with goodness and love. She was also beautiful beyond measure.

“No, it is my price to pay,” said Papa.

“Nonsense, I will go,” said Beauty.

“No, you will die. There is nobody in the castle of the Beast except the beast,” said Joy.

“Dear sister, do not worry about me. I’m already dead. Seriously, nobody around here likes me anyway. They all think I’m weird,” said Beauty.

“You are not weird,” said Papa.

Beauty laughed and hugged her Papa and her sister. She kissed the sweet baby, packed her bags, and left for the castle in the great forest.

In the middle of the night, Beauty, a pretty young woman with dark blonde hair, and big brown eyes arrived at the castle in the woods. She knocked on the door.

Nobody answered.

“Oh come on. Let me in. I came for my Papa. What do you want with an old man anyway. He just picked a rose for his daughter with postpartum depression. One rose. One freaking rose. You have thousands of roses in the garden here. What’s your problem?” Yelled Beauty.

The great door was opened by an unseen hand. Beauty entered. The place was beautiful but empty.

“Hello?”

She looked around and saw cameras in the corners of the room. Shit. I should have known this would be weird, she thought.

“I know you’re there. I see the cameras. You might as well come out. I will find you.”

Walking down the hallway she noticed that the eyes in the pictures followed her. The furniture shifted as if it was alive.

Then she heard a noice. A low growl. She tried the door in front of her. It was locked. Out of her hair she pulled a bobby pin and picked the lock.

Inside was a beast, a man who looked like the cross between a wolf and a lion, sitting in front of a bank of screens.

“You’re the Beast? What are you? A Werewolf or something?”

The Beast who was wearing a black AC/DC Tee shirt spoke. “I am not a Werewolf.”

“OK. So tell me. What are you?”

“Why are you here. I expected your Papa, or your sister Joy.”

“Joy is married and has two children. How do you know about Joy?”

“Joy is the most beautiful woman in the land. Everyone knows of Joy.”

“Whatever. I’m Beauty, the sister nobody ever sees. You know, Beast, or whatever your name is, this is really messed up. What are you? Some sort of weird geek who can’t get a girl. Do you have everyone because you’re different?”

Beast looked sad. “I am different. People fear me.”

“Welcome to the club Beast,” said Beauty.

“I am a prisoner of my own stupidity and selfishness.”

“Tell me about it.”

The beast held out his hand. “Let’s dance. There is a closet full of beautiful dresses. Go change.”

“I’m not going to be part of your weird fantasy. How’d you get here. You didn’t start out as a wolf man did you?”

“I was selfish. I was mean. I was everything a man should not be?”

“A politician.” said Beauty.

The Beast smiled, showing great white teeth. “No, not a politician. Anyway, to make a long story short, I was enchanted by a woman, a witch, I’d been dating. I’d been vain. I’d cheated on her. I lied to her in more than one way. She turned me into this.”

“I understand how bitter you are. Seriously, I went through something like that but then I accepted the fact that I was different. Just because you were a douch doesn’t mean you can’t change. It sounds to me like you have changed, at least a bit.”

“I have. Could you ever love me?”

“Seriously dude, I’m a Vampire. That’s why I left. I was glad to leave. I love my family and all but I don’t belong there. But I’m not sure I belong here either. The castle is nice and all but you know, this isn’t the Bachelor. I’m not waiting around for a rose from a guy I hardly know.”

“I get it. I’m sorry I was such a jerk. Tell your dad and sister that I’m sorry.”

And suddenly the room filled with magical sparks that didn’t burn and colored smoke, and when it cleared a good looking young man stood before Beauty.

“Wow, Beast. You’re hot. My only advice would be to stay cool. Be good. Keep your karma good.”

Beauty was suddenly hungry and sank her fangs into his arm. When she was done she kissed him, packed her bags, and left.

After a few minutes, she pulled over her car to the side of the road to send a text. “Papa. I’m ok. Don’t worry about the Beast. I’m taking off. Maybe to the beach. I’ll call you soon. xoxo.”

She didn’t know where the road leading out of the other side of the forest would lead, but she knew it couldn’t be as weird as where she had come from.

~ end

Tangled Tales

 

Thank you for reading this tangled tale. These stories are written on Sunday mornings while I drink my coffee, listen to the birds and my old calico cat purring. I never know what I will write about. Sometimes the stories I write are brilliant, sometimes not so much. If you write I encourage you to write every Sunday. It is sort of like going to church – a place where you can find your own inner whatever and find what is good, or funny, or just yours. I’m also listening to NPR. There is a great interview of Jack White talking about The Raconteurs. It has nothing to do with this story but it made me happy.

So read stories, write stories, listen to music, hug someone you love.

~ Juliette aka Vampire Maman

 

 

 

 

 

Stories We Shall Never Tell

In the dark

We ran through the streets

Slick with rain

Back alleys

Darkened windows

Broken glass

Rats

The smell of decay

And death.

Then into grand mansions

We’d fly

Cloaks off

The rustle of silk

A white tie

A flash of fang

The smell of wine

Cigars

And blood.

We were young

Carefree

With stories

We shall never

Tell

Our own

Children.

 

 

~ Juliette aka Vampire Maman

 

Short Story Sunday: Going Through With It

Tangled Tales

Pierce licked his finger then ran it across the cut on his friend’s arm. It was a nasty six inch cut.

“So, Max, what exactly happened? I thought you were going to the archives.”

“I was. I did. My car was surrounded by Vampire Hunters. It was stupid of me to go out unarmed, but every other Vampire does. You know Pierce, we should have to deal with this off the job.”

“What happened?”

“They pulled out their knives and crosses, as if a cross is going to stop me. I had my keys out and pressed the horn button. I thought that would chase them off but they kept coming. There were six of them. Six.”

“You’ve been in worse situations,” said Pierce.

“Sure, but they were good. I’d never seen them before but they’d done this before. One of them cut me. As soon as my blood hit the ground the wind kicked up and there was a loud screeching sound. And there she was, damn Pierce, a Demon. She spread her wings and spit poison. They, the Vampire Hunters ran. Cowards.”

“What is it with you and Demons?”

“What do you mean me and Demons?”

“They like you.”

“I don’t know. She smiled at me with a weird light in those yellow eyes and told me that I owed her. I told her that I didn’t owe her shit. Her eyes went black and she flew away. Holy shit it was weird. It’s the leather wings that creep me out.”

“To say the least,” said Pierce. “All the girls like you Max.”

“Not funny Pierce.”

“Did you get the documents?”

“They’re in my bag.”

Pierce put gauze over Max’s wound, then he covered it with his hand.

“You don’t have to do that,” said Max.

“Sure I do,” said Pierce. He closed his eyes then winced a little. After a few minutes he removed his hand and unwrapped the gauze. Max’s wound had closed and was now just a dark pink line on his arm. “It wasn’t that bad. Good as new. No stitches needed.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. So what did you bring back?”

“It was nothing really.”

“Something for the Jones investigation?”

“No. I was looking up wedding vows.”

Pierce smiled. “So you’re going through with it.”

“Yes, as scary as that sounds.”

“It would scare me,” said Pierce, then he laughed, and Max joined in.

 

~ end

 

~ Juliette aka Vampire Maman

 

 

Books of the Dead

“What is this place?” I asked my brother’s friend Florence. He’d taken me to an old building she owned in the downtown area.

“My library, sort of,” she said with a delighted smile. She was a thin woman with a black bob, pale skin, and bright blue eyes lined in black.  “The oldest is from the 1760’s, but most are from the 19th and 20th Centuries. I have a fair amount from the 21st Century too. I got my first one in 1819. Two hundred years ago.

“Are they manuscripts? First editions?” I asked.

I collect books that have never been read or published. Take that back, I’m not sure if anyone has read them or not. I doubt it. Some of them are quite brilliant. Fantastically brilliant. Oh my goodness I am in complete awe of some of these writers.

Even the ones that aren’t finished are pretty interesting. We’re trying to piece them together and fill in the blanks. It is a puzzle. Quite the mystery on some.

The manuscripts come from the estates of people who have passed away. Their families don’t know what to do with the stuff. Or I find them in piles of papers, usually mixed with photos and other personal office ephemera. I’ve even found manuscripts at flea markets, and left in abandoned buildings.

Someone put their heart and soul into these. It would be a shame to see these stories gone forever.

I suppose some were meant to be published. I believe some people just wrote because they had to. Sort of personal therapy. You know how that is.

I’ve got a group of college students and a few others working on reading and editing. Maybe, eventually we’ll get some of them published, you know, out in the world.

Take a look around. Feel free to take a few home to read, if you promise to bring them back.”

I walked around the stacks, surprised not to see any ghosts.

“Florence, this is amazing,” said my brother.

“Thanks. You know how it is being a Vampire. One needs a hobby. I feel it is my job to be the keeper of memories that aren’t mine. Dreams that aren’t ready to die. That too,” she said.

“Thank you Florence,” I said.

She smiled and kissed my cheek with her cold lips. “You’re welcome. I’ll let you know when I start publishing some of them. You’ll have to leave good reviews.”

For the rest of the day we looked through the manuscripts and talked quietly about books, and writers, and stories of our own.

Once a story is told it will always have a life of it’s own – even if nobody ever reads it.

~ Juliette aka Vampire Maman

 

 

Short Story Sunday: Gather Around Little Vampires

Gather Around Little Vampires And I’ll Tell You A Tale

“Gather around little Vampires for a tangled tales of princesses, surprised men, and clever young Vampires.

Once upon a time the king and queen of Vampires were happy as can be because they had become parents On the birth of their daughter, a cute little baby called Ameorphora, they decided to have a big party.

All of the fairies were invited. One green gave Ameorphora the gift of gab. Pink one gave her the gift of curiosity. The yellow gave her the give of a mathematical mind.

But the red fairy, who was a raging bitch and drank too much at parties wasn’t invited. But she crashed the party anyway.

In front of the king and queen of Vampires and all of their friends the red fairy said, “Ameorphora, dear baby, I give you the gift of being boorish and you shall ever be alone because everyone will hate you.”

Over the years the little Vampire princess made no friends. She was petty and whiney. Nobody liked to be around her. As she grew up she found herself more and more alone with her math books, her curiosity, and nobody to talk to.

Heaven knows she tried to be nice but it was impossible. Finally even her parents and siblings avoided her. So Ameorphora packed up her bags and moved to an old abandoned castle on a near by hill.

Years passed. Ameorphora was a Vampire so she remained young and beautiful looking. Inside she was sad and alone. So she went to sleep one night and slept and slept and slept, the sleep of only the saddest of souls.

She awoke from a loud frightening unfamiliar sound. When Ameorphora opened her eyes she found that her castle was covered in thorn covered vines. When she sat up she saw a man, a handsome youngish man come in through a clearing with loud whirling sword in his hand.

“What the Fuc…” she exclaimed.

“Hey,” said the young man, “Sorry, let me turn off my chain saw.” The weapon stopped whirling and making noise.

“Who are you and what are you doing here?”

“We’re clearing out the old castle. My uncle is a historian. I’m here helping for the summer. What are you doing here?”

“I live here,” said Ameorphora. Then she stood up and walked towards the young man. He leaned in, as if he wished to kiss her, but she grabbed his shoulders, then sank her teeth into his neck and drank his blood until he passed out.”

Oh my, she thought and suddenly, like a great weight was lifted off her soul, she felt nice.

When the young man woke up Ameorphora asked him two questions. “What year is it? And what is your name?”

“2019, and Alex. My name is Alex.”

Alex just happened to be a Math and Game Development major at a good university in California. So Ameorphora signed up for college as well, and they became best friends, and decided that they’d live happily ever after. She turned him into a Vampire too.

The end.”

The children all clapped and asked for another story.

I will now tell you the true story of Cinderella.

Once upon a time there was a man without a wife. He was alone in the world with his small timid daughter called Elenore. As a horrible judge of character and a wimp who couldn’t raise a child on his own, the man married a woman who only loved him for his money and social standing. It wasn’t a lot of money but enough to put them in the top 25%.

Then the man went off on a business trip and died, leaving his daughter with her step-mother. The step-mother didn’t know what to do with this girl who obviously had a bad case of OCD. It was annoying but at least the house was spotless. On the other hand the girl was weird and uncomfortable to be around. She talked to animals and was always plucking daisy leaves saying “he loves me, he loves me not.” Even worse she was plucking wings off of flies and calling the poor creatures crawls. She would say strange things to people when they went out in public like, “my father’s flesh has liquified and he is now nothing but worm pocked bones.” Once she told the Baker that she’d like to sleep his oven and wake up as ashes.

From there on out Cinderella, as everyone called Elenore now, was never taken out anywhere. In fact she was the poster child for the expression you can dress her up but you can’t take her anywhere.

Ten years passed and the two step-sisters and Elenore all grew into beautiful young women. Lizzette the eldest of the girls was gifted in music. Manon the youngest of the three was gifted in art. Elenore kept her talents hidden from the eyes and ears of the world.

On the first day of spring the King announced there would be a grand ball in honor of his eldest son Prince Edward. And low and behold ALL THREE young woman received invitations.

Lizzette and Manon cringed at the though of Cinderella showing up talking of death, dressed in black and telling fortunes to all of gloom and doom. So on the day of the ball they locked Cinderella in her room and went to the ball alone. When their mother asked where Cinderella was the sisters said she’d gone to a party with her stoner friends.

The ball was splendid! Women in flowing ball gowns danced with handsome men wearing tails. It was a magnificent site and oh so romantic. Lizzette caught the eye of Prince Edward and they danced for an hour. Lizzette was enchanted and falling in love but it wasn’t to be.

The doors to the great ballroom opened and in stepped a stunning woman in a black gown decorated with black crystals and bows. All eyes were on her as Prince Edward approached and took her black gloved hand. The Prince and the woman in black danced alone on the floor, slowly like two people in love. The lights dimmed and eventually the room became black. When the lights came back on the woman in black was gone and Prince Edward stood alone. In his hand was a single black glove.

Night after night Edward became more pale and weak. He laid in bed whispering about the woman in black as he clutched her one black glove in his hand.

Lizzette heard the news and went to her room and cried herself to sleep. She was sure she was the one. She was sure she’d met a man who could dance through life with her.

Manon talked to her friends but none of them could figure out who the mysterious woman in black had been.

Cinderella sat in her attic room wondering where her missing glove was. She retraced her steps down the narrow dark streets leading up to the palace but found nothing.

The next day the sisters, along with fifty other young women who’d attended the ball, were summoned to the palace in hopes that one of them had been the woman in black.

Manon saw Prince Edward first. he lounged on a couch, handsome but weak. “Did you wear black to the ball dear girl?”

What an idiot thought Manon. Of course she didn’t say that out loud. “No, dear Prince Edward I did not. If I may speak freely dear Prince?”

“Speak my dear,” he said softly in almost a whisper.

“Forget the girl in black. My sister Lizzette loves you heart and soul. You went to school together. You know her. You have a lot in common. Why go after a woman who would run away from you?”

As Edward nodded his head as if to say no, Manon noticed two small red spots on his neck. She almost gasped but held her breath.

Next Lizzette came into the room. “Edward, my dear friend, what has happened to you?”

He took her hands in his, dropping the glove on the floor. Lizzette picked it up. She recognized the scent of the lotion of the owner of the glove. Then she noticed the red marks on Edward’s neck. “Oh no, she didn’t change you did she?”

“I have not changed my dear. Only my heart that seems so enchanted…”

Lizzette put her arms around his neck and cried.

The skies outside grew dark and a cold wind blew open the door. A girl in black, as black as cinders came into the room. “Lizzette is in love with you. Don’t be a fool and marry her. And no Lizzette, I didn’t change him. I only drank his blood. If I’d had any idea he’d be such a pansy ass about it I would have never gone to the ball.” Then she took back her glove and left the room.

As she walked back through the woods on the way home. This was one of the only places she’d ever felt calm and normal. It wasn’t easy being different. As she turned the corner around a grove of blooming dogwood trees she saw a figure dressed in black. A tall handsome man, dressed in black, with shaggy black hair and piercing blue eyes stood before her. He smiled showing dazzling white fangs.

Cinderella stopped and put her cold hands to her heart.

He held up a black glove. “You dropped this one too.”

“You’re like me,” Cinderella gasped. “You’re a freak like me.”

“Not a freak my dear, only different.”

Lizzette and Edward lived happily ever after. Manon went on to become the director of the National Art Gallery. As for Cinderella, she found love as well in her cold dark mysterious stranger.

And THAT my friends is the real story of Cinderella.

~ end

 

Juliette aka Vampire Maman