The unnatural mist seemed unaffected by the chill wind and appeared all the more eerie, illuminated as it was by the frigid moonlight. At some length, we reached the epicentre of the vast cemetery, aware that our presence was overlooked by sundry statues and gargoyles so hideous as to laugh in the very face of God. Then, there emerged from the swirling miasma, a stark marble sepulchre and the chill hand of fear gripped our hearts as we noticed that the door was ajar. The professor paused to light our candles and we made our way into the crypt of the unquiet tomb. There in the flickering light of the tallow candle stood Daphne. She wore the shroud in which she had been interred, her face was pale as alabaster but for a crimson streak of fresh blood dripping from her elongated incisors. Her eyes burned with the scarlet flames of the pit. She licked her lips as she regarded me. My love... She hissed with a hellish rasp. Show her your cross! Implored the professor. Sod off you flat chested harpy I cried. No, your crucifix he replied. I raised the Christian symbol to the spectre and she shrieked with piteous wail and shrunk back into the darkness. But where she had stood there arose from the gloom a more terrifying form. Count! Gasped the professor. Theres no need for vulgarity hissed the undead aristocrat. Your casket has been sanctified with holy water said professor Van Hire, Your grave is now denied you. The deceased nobleman spun around, then turned to face us again. There is nothing behind me. Do not play games with your soul he hissed. Are you deaf Count Vlad? Enquired professor Van Hire. I am retorted the vampiric fiend. This heart has been still for centuries. The professor looked puzzled. No, are you hard of hearing? Earing? Scoffed the late tyrant such trinkets are the currency of mortal man. The professor had grown tired of the Counts intransigence. Tonight you sleep in hell he cried, and plunged his sharpened hawthorn stake into the necroambulent corpse. Blood gushed from the monsters terrible mouth. No, I dont sleep very well he gasped, and collapsed into the sweet embrace of death that he had evaded for centuries. From Count Deafula by Bran Flakes. Death. The reaper will find us all. Of course you can cheat him for a while. Thats why Atlantic Scuba runs a fully MCA coded boat. The life raft has just been serviced, we tested all the life jackets today, and the fire extinguishers are all shiny. Of course the boat could get eaten by a whale but thats life. Book a dive tomorrow. Survival (almost) guaranteed.
Posted on: Tue, 01 Apr 2014 20:05:56 +0000
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