How Igor Killed Master Dracula
If Vampires Had Cats
The Prince of Darkness was out for a stroll, getting his constitutional after getting his transfusional one evening. He was startled by his own shadow running across his feet. He knew there was no mirror image possible for one so advanced on the human chain of evolution as himself, but he had not done enough study to warrant a clear answer to the question of shadows. *Or to the question of Echoes, but more about this phenom in another telling.*
The Black Shadow turned around, proceeded to develop a long slinky tail, and curled the tail around Vlad’s ankles. So taken aback was poor Vlad that instead of kicking it away as was his natural temperament, he bent down, unfurled the tail, and picked the Shadow up in his palms, ensuring that his long wiry nails not scratch the Shadow at all. The Shadow opened her mouth, yawned, and fell instantly asleep in Vlad’s hands.
Taking the Shadow back with him seemed the only possible action to take. Belly filled with fresh ichor from the veins of the last gods he had partaken of, Drakule made his way swiftly through the rising mists of the rising dawn, skirting the puddles of water and goo, lifting the edges of his skirts and the skirts of his coattails. At the house with the red door that he could not enter, he stopped and skirted the corner to the nondescript back door. Down and down and down he went, nothing stopping his entry into the dank dark dreadful chamber that suited him perfectly, the chamber known as the basement, the chamber he had secured from the landlady’s son for the price of simply allowing him to live, playing Fortnite endlessly, with night goggles to prevent his ever having to stop for sleep.
Vlad laid the tiny Shadow down on the floor, let it drink a few drops from his own precious wrist. The little creature lapped up the juices of the Master, sticking his tongue out for more. Vlad withdrew his hand. “That is enough for the first time, malečok”. He cooed at the Shadow, already growing bigger. “More in the evening when we wake”. The Shadow opened her eyes, slowly. Wide-eyed she meowed. One eye gold, the other rust. Vlad climbed into his day-chamber and lay the Shadow down by his feet.
“What shall you be called, Shadow Child?” Oтец looked at baby closely. The eyes were a dead giveaway, twin moons of different seasons, shining out of the tiny black furred face. “Rygor?” It didn’t suit. “Ingvar?” “We shall decide upon waking, little one.” Father settled into position, arms crossed across his chest, and lowered the cover of the casket over them with its jeweled inner pull. Soon the sound of snores was reverberating through FortniteLandia.
Through their sleep the small black creature wriggled and struggled, moving and jostling for space. Through their sleep, the little creature grew on the sustenance of Oleg’s lymph, sucking it secretly through the Master’s skin, growing evermore round. Oleg, deep in sleep, moved to make more room for Rygor. Unannounced, he found the child lying across his head, then sliding down butt first onto his father’s face. Drakule turned on his side unknowingly, making more room for baby to grow in insolence.
Through the day’s progression outside, the unnamed baby shadow grew bigger and more territorial, to capture the limited territory of the oak box Father slept in. Eventually, Vlad simply climbed out in his sleep, curling up next to the sarcophagus, sleep uninterrupted. Shadow stretched out in the entire casket, taking turns from one end to the other. As dusk crept close, on languid feet, Baby Shadow got out of the box and moseyed over to the closest window, covered with deep crimson drapes. With one saber swipe, he tore the heavy curtain from the rod it hung on, clattering metal rings across the floor.
The sunlight streaked in, Baby taking a long luxurious stretch, extending neck to tail on the tips of his paws. The dusk light pushed in, covering Dracula’s pale face in a cornucopia of reds and yellows as he lay still sleeping, before his first scream could leave his throat. In a fleeting moment, like a match touched to tinder, there was nothing left of Father but a body outline of gashes, writhing in the excruciating ecstasy of release. The Shadow turned to Father’s Ashes, pale face grown paler in silver ashes.
“I am Igor the Assassin, Master,” he growled. “Igor, Son of Vlad the Impaler.”
