L'aura del Campo

In your Transylvanian nightmare

In your Transylvanian nightmare

for Meadowlark

Dracula appears out of nowhere on the TV big screen. He steps out of the picture, sees you cringing with feat. He offers to put on a pot of tea, asks whether he should bring you some scones. He steps back into his coffin to get some. You blink your eyes and he's gone but Morticia appears with a bunch of white roses dripping blood. She snips off the buds, arranges the thorns, cries out, "Is the tea on?" You get up to pee, make it there just in time, look in the mirror, see bones looking back, brass coins in the sockets. You try to scream but your jaw falls to the floor. You run back to your room, dive under the covers. You hear a bell ring and a gentleman's soft voice. You peek to see a hand holding a plate. You say thank-you to where a face would be if there were one. You sip red rose-hips bobbing in broth. It tastes sweet like czernina. You don't see Dracula approach. Is it sweet enough, he implores and holds up a head of a woman. Could it use some more sugar. He takes out a spoon to catch some red drops as you nod. I'm glad you approve. It's my mother and I only had one.

© Kåre Enga [166.324] #93 late November, 2009