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Once in a
Blue Moon
A Humorous Fantasy
by Joe Vadalma
(Available from Page Turner Editions)
BLUE MOON
Friday, the thirteenth of
January, was bitter cold in the rugged hill country of Vampirevania.
Deep in the woods Pim, a woman known and admired far
and wide for her beauty, trudged along a narrow path accompanied by her lover
and companion. Terry was not as handsome as Pim was
beautiful. Nonetheless, with his dark beard, he was good looking in a rugged
masculine way. His melancholy expression testified to a great tragedy in his
life. As the couple pulled a hand-drawn sleigh of firewood down a narrow forest
trail, each puff of frigid air shook small blizzards from snow-laden firs and
spruce upon their heads and shoulders. In the icy air, every breath was needles
in their lungs. Except for the crunch of snow beneath their feet and the
sighing breeze, the forest was silent. They hurried. Soon the pale winter sun
would disappear behind the mountains, making the thick forest a place of utter
darkness and frigidity -- like a grave.
To Pim,
her good looks was a mixed blessing. Sometimes they
embarrassed her. When she entered a room, every head turned. Every man present
let out an involuntary and spontaneous sigh. Her waist was slim, her hips full and
her legs long. Her heavy cloak did not hide her prominent curves. In the waning
light long strands of copper hair strayed from her hood and glistened scarlet.
Terry once said to her,
"Everything about you is beautiful. Your most attractive feature, nonetheless,
are your eyes, dark as
After Terry rekindled the fire at
their rustic cottage, they warmed themselves with cups of hot cocoa before the
crackling flames. Finally he broke their silent contemplation of the fire.
"Soon the moon will rise full. You know what that means, my love."
Pim sighed heavily. She dreaded these monthly
episodes. "Yes Terry, my poor dear. Are you ready?"
He kissed her cheek for a reply.
They gathered warm quilts and again braved the frigid air. She clutched his
hand fiercely as they strolled along their narrow garden path to a dog house
large enough to house the greatest of Great Danes. Near the entrance a strong
chain and a heavy leather collar was attached to an iron spike driven into the
ground. Pim kneeled in the snow and spread the blankets
inside the enclosure. When she rose, she fastened the collar around Terry's
neck. "I hope you'll be warm enough."
"I'll be fine. Don't forget
that I'll have a fine fur coat."
They embraced tenderly, and Pim trudged back to their cabin. A single tear rolled down
her cheek and froze into a glistening ice crystal which she did not bother to
brush away. After she entered their living room, she extinguished the candles
but one and changed into a flimsy nighty before the
roaring fireplace. With the aid of the candle, she crept to their cramped
bedroom and crawled under a silken comforter. Although she was apprehensive
about her lover out in the cold, she was exhausted from their hike and soon
fell asleep.
Hours later the moon shining
through her window woke her. Strangely, it was deep blue, almost the hue of
Terry's eyes. Outdoors, a wolf bayed, long and plaintive, as though it lamented
the world's sorrows, a chain rattled, and the moon changed to blood red. Something
is terribly wrong, Pim thought. She bounded from
her bed, threw on her fur-lined cloak and boots and rushed out the door. When
she reached the doghouse, the chain lay on the ground with the collar broken.
Terry was nowhere in sight.
"No," she cried and
gazed around. Wolf prints led to the woods. She buried her head in her hands
and sobbed. It was no use going after him now. She'd only be placing her own
life in jeopardy. You see, Terence Lalbert, Terry,
was a werewolf.
Sadly she trudged to the cabin,
sat bundled in blankets before the fire and watched sparks dance around the
logs like tiny demons. After a long while she nodded off.
***
As the early morning light drove
away the shadows, Pim knew that she was still alone;
Terry had not returned. Quickly she dressed in her warmest garments and
wandered through the woods calling his name. She tried to find his tracks but
fresh snow had obliterated the prints she'd seen the night before. She returned
to the hut at
Vampirevania was ruled by Count Gorblud.
Although he was a vampire, he was kindly in his fashion, satisfying his blood
lust only on condemned criminals. It was to this warmhearted bloodsucker whom Pim intended to go for
advice. Years ago she and he had rescued a foreigner by the name of Dorian from
being tortured by Duke Savage the Barbarian. They'd been friends ever since.
She set off on a horse-drawn
sleigh for Gorblud's castle in the mountains.
Although the distance was not far, at this time of the year it took her two
arduous days to cover the dangerous route. The first day a blinding blizzard
forced her to seek shelter in a farmer's barn for most of the afternoon and all
night. The next day the rutted roads were at times blocked with drifts that
made her make wide detours. At times the wind blew the snow so hard that it
created whiteouts during which she had to use extreme caution not to end up in
a ditch or go over a cliff. After sunset , since this
was Vampirevania, there was danger from werewolves, werebears and vampires.
When she finally reached Gorblud's estate, she wearily plodded up a narrow path to
the vampire's bleak home. She passed through the gate in the outer wall only to
find to her dismay that the castle was in ruins, consumed to the foundation by
a conflagration. Wisps of smoke rose from smoldering timbers. Broken blocks of
stone and snow soaked ash were all that remained of Gorblud's
proud palace. With tears streaming down her cheeks, she wandered about the ruin
in the vain hope of finding a clue as to what had happened to her friend. She
discovered nothing.
Crestfallen, she drove to the
village at the foot of the mountain, a place called Frankenheim.
During supper, she sat in the darkest corner of the inn with the cowl of her
cloak shielding her face. As she picked at her meal of stir-fried vegetables
over rice with minuscule bits of chicken in it, she eavesdropped on the
conversations around her. A group of drunken local men were bragging how they'd
attacked the castle and burned it down.
"Yah Fritz, dot
garlic-hating vampire vill never again burden us vith his cruel laws. Imagine outlawing the importation of
garlic. Everything mine wife cooked tasted burnt. It vas
awful."
"He
vas a bloodsucker no doubt, dot count. No voman vas
safe from him. Gute riddance to bad rubbish. Did anyone ever find Gorblud's body und pound a stake through his black
heart?"
"Nein. He flew away as a bat vile ve pounded on his door. Someday ve cotch him. Den ve make him true dead and not chust
undead."
For some reason the men thought
the last statement was hilarious because they all broke out in uncontrolled
laughter. Tears again flowed from Pim's eyes. Poor
Count Gorblud, she thought and prayed that he had
escaped unharmed.
She retired to her lonely room in
despair. Who to turn to now?
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