Dark Days, Black Nights. It's no fun trying to shake off my family's dark legacy, My bad name and face ain't one good folk wanna see, It's a grand old artistocratic name, yet one most detest, Hereabouts my Vlad name's more cursed than blessed. Beneath the shadow of Castle Dracula change comes slow, The villagers and I warily co-exist in an uneasy ebb and flow, The wild accounts they tell of Count Dracula never get old- Yet there's a drop o' truth to the hoary horror story Stoker told. My bad reputation remainspreserveddeserved I do admit, The peasants don't welcome my presence one little bit, Slowly, over time, any mutual good will has been lost, But once my blood's up I'm a bad Count to be crossed. I've quite the cad's reputation here in our quiet backwater, I've been the ruination of many a fine farmers daughter, Stoker said I've a cool dark and damned handsome look, But you'll find no photographic evidence in Bram's book. For a soul who's seen so much in his lifetime I believe I look like a man still well in his prime, Of course, I could be accused of gross vanity- I can truly say that doesn't reflect the real me. Tales of my gross misdeeds have hung around for ages, Fathers and nuns still twist and turn over my back pages, 'Tis true, I'm out and about, prowling these moonlit streets As good God fearin' folk hide, shiverin' 'neath their sheets. Legend says I'm most likely to be seen at night, True again- dawn demands I be tucked up tight, I'll happily snore the day away till late afternoon, Sleep the damned day away, rise with the moon. There's not many locals left who call me friend, Most who did tended to come to a sticky end, The Hotelier won't let me step over his threshold- To be denied a warm pint makes my blood run cold. He knows full well some nights I'd murder for a sip, His problem is the bar empties out should I request a nip, The toast my name elicits here is 'Cheers, to Drac's death!' And I can't face that toxic wave of Bitter and garlic breath. My problem is, here on my old vamping ground Fresh blood is a commodity too rarely found, So when I heard rumours of tourists in town You could Count on me to chase 'em down. Far too few city folk come approach the Castle door Though the breathtaking view sure is one to die for- A new-wed couple booking in here's something rare, And an appreciative nose twitched up in my dank lair. The happy couple arrived, wreathed in smiles, Brought in by horse and cart for the last five miles; Around these parts that means riding in First Class, Third Class is by two feet, Second is on one's ass. All about the cheery locals called out 'Willkommen,' The jolly Innkeeper took their cash and booked 'em Inn, Said, 'my good son Slobodan will be your guiding light, He's as honest as the day is long, just... not that bright.' All day long, accompanied by their watchful guide The honeymooners delighted in the countryside, But once the sun touched the tip o' the mountain top Slobodan's guided tour screeched to an abrupt stop. The guide looked at his unwound watch in dismay, Slobodan feared he might wind up rueing this day, He turned for home, shadows darkening his face, Setting off through the trees at a reckless pace. As long shadows turned the forest ominously black The three staggered out of the claustrophobic track, Slobodan turned and squinted up at the setting sun, Gulped, and set off for the village at a shambling run. The unhappy couple watched his broad rear disappear; For a provincial yokel Slobodan could get his ass in gear, They caught the sweaty Slob panting on the village gate Whereon Slob explained why we don't wander out late. He told a tale of a bloodthirsty Carpathian Count, A ghoul who haunts the Castle up on yon Mount, A beast no one here wants to cross paths with, What a modern couple dismiss as a foolish myth. They laughed at Slobodan and his warning And his advice to stay indoors till morning, Dismissing every word the misguided fool said, Still, being on honeymoon, why not early to bed? So, upstairs they made haste; Now, in the bounds of good taste Since this is not a saucy R18 rated tale Now it's time to discretely draw the veil... So later, but after not quite as long as she had hoped The wide eyed bride lifted the duvet and blindly groped, A quick tug of a curtain cord and in the moonlight spilled, She stepped o'er to the window, feeling oddly unfulfilled. Outside the latched window, clad in a coal black cloak The very image of he of whom their guide had spoke- Slowly, devilishly, he looked up and their eyes locked, His lip twisted up, and an enquiring eyebrow cocked... Helpless as his darkly mesmerising eyes bore into hers, Marriage vows evaporate as something within her stirs, Window opened wide, she dreamily invites him inside, And by dawn the groom is set to leave his bloody bride. As if emerging from a nightmare she swayed, pale, woozy, A livid bruise on her neck the mark of Drac's two bit floozy! The groom strode up to my Castle, he knocked down my door, Such a crazy cross-eyed look his wild and red eyes wore! He pushed loyal Ygor aside, he could not be contained! Now, after a long night of necking I felt tired and drained, In the light of day my denials wouldn't do me much good, So I lay silent in my chamber, fearing his knock on wood. How dare some vengeful mortal man ruin my rest? How dare some retributive husband bare my breast? He looked Hellbent on blaming me for his divorce, And he had a point to hammer home, of course. - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - The bride and groom departed in the horse and cart, Who knew they'd reconcile over my broken heart? As o'er the dark Castle the ashen clouds blow away It grieves my soul knowing I've years of Hell to pay. Those two still talk up their trip to our quaint paradise, (Though he ain't apt to mention his bloody sacrifice,) Thanks to word of mouth we're now a destination of note (Though at times her endorsement catches in her throat.) Now in the busy tavern the sad old narrative's shifted, Tourists keep local tale tellers elbows and spirits lifted, From this village's life I have gone, and none too soon; But one dead Count has turned their bane into a boon.
©Obbverse
