Rosalind - Beauty and the Beast meets Dracula retelling

15- The Sweet Scent of Blood

"And two more were killed the night before last." Two of the maids from the Hershel's house-staff gossiped in the kitchen as dishes were washed and floors were swept.

"I heard one of them had his head cut clear off. Some huntsmen found it spiked on a tree-branch, looking down like a gargoyle," said Esther knowingly.

"Who told you that?" asked Rue.

"Old man Ivar. You know how he loves spreading news of the Borgo Beast's latest kill."

Cutlery made a silvery sound as it was dropped in the sink.

"Old man Ivar is a gruesome man. The way he runs out into the streets still dressed in his long-johns --" Rue was cut off as Esther tutted.

"He does wear a long shawl to cover himself," the older maid said to the younger Rue.

"A shawl," Rue scoffed. "He's in his long-johns," the younger maid repeated and then added, "and those ancient slippers of his that flop, flop, flop as he scurries through the snow. The way he runs out to tell folks of a new murder is ghastly. It's as though he admires the beast. Have you seen how animated he gets, Esther? Hands waving over his head, spittle fleeing from his toothless mouth."

"Old man Ivar is jealous of the devil." Esther chuckled dryly. How someone could look up to that horrid creature that plagued Transylvania was beyond her knowledge.

"He's ninety years old. He's got to pick a side sooner or later."

"He is an old fool and a drunk. Do you think he has ever seen the beast, Rue?"

"No. Few have. I do not want to be one of the unlucky that ever come across such an abomination."

Rosalind listened to the maids going on about the monster's latest kills. The two women could not see their mistress for she hid against the shadowed wall beside one of the bookcases that stood tall on either side of the kitchen's entrance. Rosalind's hands pressed against the wood of the bookcase where old tomes kept a silent eye on her. She was eavesdropping, not a lady-like thing to do but Rosalind had to hear what Esther and Rue had to say, no matter how macabre. Were the maids to see their mistress, they would stop talking. Rosalind felt like a deer caught at the wrong end of an arrow, too scared to run away, too scared to stand still.

Sometimes it would be many months before a child vanished or a disemboweled fellow turned up in the snow. Sometimes, when the nights got longer, more and more people would disappear. Poor souls would be found dangling by ropes of their own intestines from trees. Rosalind felt her heart break. Her father and brothers were still not home. Her family may have got too close to the Borgo, too close to the beast. Though proficient huntsmen, Rosalind worried about them. If they were to come across the beast, would they be fortunate enough to escape?

Both her father and brothers thought the beast was nothing but a fairy tale, a myth created by fools to cause worry in the city. The Borgo was a place they longed to visit.

Rosalind brought her trembling hand to her face.

"Do you think it will ever stop?" asked Rue after a moment of silence.

"No, but as long as we do not go into the Borgo we are safe. Only a fool would dare go there willingly."

A dull pain found Rosalind and began to twist her insides. A tiny cry escaped her lips and threatened to expose her. Rosalind fled before her servants realized she was there and saw the tears trickling down her cheeks.

The scent of blood lay thick in Harlan Hershel's nostrils, he smelt it on his sons' hands, on their swords, and on his own bow and arrow. It was as though the smell was woven into the air.