100 Short Stories

100 Short Stories

1: The Dinner at Darkwood Mansion.

“You have arrived at your destination.”

I looked at my GPS and I concluded that I had reached the spooky Darkwood Mansion. The derelict mansion had been owned by a distant relative, at least according to the suspicious-looking email I received. “Mr Orchard. Your distant relative Vlad Bogdan died and left you a manor in the Hunter Valley region. Please contact us for information on how to secure your inheritance. Best Regards F & Raud Lawyers”

I know what you are thinking; what kind of idiot would fall for such an obvious scam? I am normally not that stupid, but on this occasion, the email enticed me to further investigate. I found out that Darkwood Mansion existed and that it was only a few hours away from Sydney, so it was a perfect road trip for the weekend.

“I don’t like this place. Can we go back to our hotel?” My partner Elaine whined.

“No, I got to check it out. Let’s walk around the premises and see if we can find any clues.” I replied. “No, I don’t want to.” Elaine stated.

“You could have told me about that three hours ago.” I said, exited the car, and walked to the front gate of the mansion.

As I walked to the door, I concluded that if I against the odds had inherited this mansion, I would sell it. The place was run-down, and the repairs would cost an absolute fortune.

A blood-stained pitchfork came into my view and interrupted me from thinking about my hypothetical finances. “Nope, nope, nope.”  I thought and turned around to walk back to my car.

I gasped in shock when I turned around and saw a creepy old man who held a lit oil lamp in front of my eyes. “Welcome to the late Vlad Bogdan’s mansion, Mr Orchard. I am Igor, Vlad’s loyal servant.” Igor greeted.

“Hold on, how do you know my name?” I asked.

“We have been expecting you,” Igor replied.

Igor’s statement reaffirmed the importance of leaving this place as soon as possible. Not only was the place creepy as hell, but the caretaker had also spied on me and knew about my identity.

“Hmm, my partner told me she felt tired and needed to go back to our hotel.” I said and walked towards the car.

Much to my dismay, I noticed that Elaine was conversing with an old lady next to the car. She approached me and spoke: “Great news, Martin. Loretta has invited us to enjoy her authentic Romanian cuisine. Let’s join her inside.”

“But you wanted to go back to our hotel five minutes ago.” I protested and held back my impulse to pull my hair in frustration that we yet again clashed about something.

“Yes, but have you ever tried authentic Romanian cuisine before? This will be great.” Elaine enthused.

I stared in disbelief at Elaine. Like a certain cartoon dog, she forgot about danger as soon as there was a promise of food. I grudgingly agreed to come with Elaine to the dining hall of the mansion. I would have described the dining hall as “north-facing and rustic, with an aura of bygone times” if I was a real estate agent. I am not, so I’d describe it as creepy and gloomy.

During our dining experience at Darkwood Mansion, Igor and Loretta served us Romanian blood sausage, blood pudding and red wine. I would rate the meal one out of five. Not only did the iron content of the food overpower all the other flavours, but the meal was also spiked with sedatives.

After finishing a few bites of the rancid meal, I passed out and everything turned black.

 

 

***

 

 

“Good morning, Master Orchard. I have some great news. You passed the trial, and you are now the proprietor of Darkwood Mansion.” A suit-wearing man told me.

I stared at the blurry man and slurred: “Who are you? What is going on?”

“I am Frank Raud from F & Raud Lawyers. I have been looking for the heir to Darkwood Mansion, and it seems like you and your partner fit the requirements.” The lawyer Frank said.

“So, why did Igor drug me?” I asked.

“It’s part of the process. To be the heir to Darkwood Mansion, one must form a symbiosis with the blood-borne parasite, which was present in the late Vlad Bogdan’s blood. Igor injected you with the parasite and your body bonded with it.” Frank revealed.

“So, what does this mean?” I asked.

“It means you are the proprietor of Darkwood Mansion and the surrounding vineyards. You have also turned into a vampire. Please use this script to collect blood bags at Singleton Pharmacy. If you resort to nightly killing sprees, Igor will put you down with his pitchfork.” Frank explained.

“I understand.” I replied.

Frank nodded and left the bedroom.

I got up from the bed and I studied my reflection. It pleased me that my vampirism infection didn’t make me invisible. What didn’t please me was the way I looked. My skin was as white as a bleached bedsheet and I assumed that I would be as UV-sensitive as a Scottish ginger. My fangs were unsightly and useless for anything except murdering people and scaring children at Halloween parties. On the flipside, I was now the proprietor of a large estate with an endless supply of fine wines. With my new-found wealth, I could focus on writing short stories of questionable quality.

The end.

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