The Real Dracula

The Real Dracula

Prologue

I am a Ghost. Made of disintegrated matter, a free soul and an unfulfilled life. I am confined to the shadow but I refuse to rest quietly. We Turks know better. Dracula will get what’s coming to him one way or another and maybe then I’ll rest easy. But then again, with a rusted nail skewered through my head, maybe not.

Chapter 1

It was with much screaming that Vlad III, Prince of Wallachia and member of the the house of Dracul, entered the world. The grunts and cries of his mother filled the stone chamber as two midwives stood listlessly beside the bed, occasionally uttering words of encouragement as they wiped the sweat off the heaving woman’s forehead. Whilst she panted and groaned, Vlad’s soon to be father paced the stone flagged corridor outside. Up and down, backwards and forwards, again, again and again, his face creased with worry. Indeed, Vlad II had plenty to be worried about. He was a future King and the woman giving birth to his child was one of his many mistresses. It was one thing to sleep with another woman, but to have her conceive a child? Vlad II glanced uneasily at the oak panelled doors, through which the cries could still be plainly heard. Kasia would have to go, he decided, it wouldn’t do for his reputation. This child would have to die too of course. A regrettable turn of events, but it would have to be done…He gazed broodily out the frosted window, at the dark, snow-capped landscape. A sudden shout from behind the oak panelled door caused him to start from his reverie.

“Where’s the knife?” yelled one of the midwives as she cradled the slippery infant’s head.

“Here!” cried the other, retrieving a sliver blade from the top of a mahogany desk. Quickly and expertly, she cut the umbilical cord, severing mother and child forever, and then proceeded to tie a knot around what serviced the mewling baby as a navel. Confident now that the blood had stopped flowing, the midwife gave a nod of approval, scooped up the baby and deposited him in his mother’s arms.   

“There ye go,” exclaimed the midwife cheerfully “a beautiful baby boy.”

“A boy!” his mother gasped happily. At least her son would be able to inherit the throne and a good fortune. A girl would be of no use. She gazed at her new born son reverently, taking no notice now, of the sweat still trickling down her forehead, matting her wavy brown hair into clumps. She took several deep gulps of air and pronounced her verdict: “Beautiful.” She said, leaning her head wearily against her pillows.

“Beautiful,” she murmured once more as she admired her baby’s strong chin, stormy grey eyes and thick thatch of black hair. “You’re so much like your father,” she whispered, pressing her lips gently to the baby’s temple. He had stopped crying now and was regarding the woman he would never know with a curious kind of cool indifference.

“Vlad.” His mother stated with finality, greedily taking in every detail of his face “Like your father, you will be named Vlad.”

Outside, Vlad II had stopped pacing and had come to his conclusion. The woman and her brat must die. An unpleasant business, but in the bigger schemes of things, for the greater good…Vlad sighed quietly, it would have to be done. Tomorrow at the latest. Before Cneajna caught wind of it and God knows he had heard enough of her whining to last until the day he died. Hearing that the cries had stopped, he knocked cautiously on the door and entered. It was a happy sight that captured his eye. Kasia, his newest addition, was just starting to breastfeeding, the larger of the two midwives carefully guiding the two novices. Happiness seemed to radiate off Kasia like a golden glow, lighting the stone chamber and cocooning the mother and child in a blaze of joy. She crooned to the newborn softly and then lifted her head to beam at Vlad.