Dracula and the Three Beds

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This story takes place when I was but a baby
fresh from the grave.
As intimidating as it may be to awake in
a world of darkness,
it was stranger still that I craved
the shadows to wrap around me
like a security blanket.

Creeping bravely from
the safety of my catacomb,
I made my way to a lonely farmhouse
with nothing but the power of echolocation.

A basement window was left open,
and I glided inside the homestead.
Sneaking into a room silently,
the barely audible flapping
of leathery wings was muffled
by the breathing of my next victim.
He slept soundly,
and I took the opportunity to eat
a bite of breakfast.

Too salty.

I retreated to another bed, where
there sat a young redhead
checking her reflection to make certain
it hadn’t changed since the morning.
She didn’t see me swoop in,
for mirrors are blind to my image.

Too sweet.

Finally I settled on a modest bedroom;
there was a broom closet
complete with a well-groomed wizard
beneath a two-story staircase.
The mage was reading
when I sucked his blood.

Just right.

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