Elizabeth, dressed in her sweats, was flying casual laps around the turrets of Poenari. She thought back upon her brilliant plan from hours before.
There was that motorcycle gang that had passed my castle at Čachtice a few days ago. Gang? “Those fat old farts!!!!!!!!!!!!!” The only exercise that those porkers ever get is twisting a throttle and lifting a can of beer!!! What the fute was I thinking?!
A week ago Dr. Osândă had told her, “You must calm down, Countess. In times of stress, take a deep breath and focus only on the good.” The eminent psychiatrist had said this ten seconds before Elizabeth eviscerated him, while searching for the suspected broom handle lodged up his rectului.
Elizabeth tried to calm herself down as she sailed through the cool night. Yes, she needed to think positively. She took a deep breath and thought about utilizing the biker gang again. Gang?
“Those fat old farts!” she repeated. Elizabeth was proud of herself. That was much better. Calm, she thought, and with a dozen fewer exclamation marks than the first time .
In the final hour of sleep Vlad had moved to the rafters, where he hung upside down to restore blood flow, from his nether regions, back to his head, which may have ruptured after the fireplace romp with the Countess. In a dream, he flew beside the Poenari walls, counting the impaled bodies of his ancient enemies.
Elizabeth had returned from her night flight wide awake and sizzling . Excitement always made her smell like bacon. She put on her fireproof negligee and walked back down to the cool waters of the River Styx. “Hmmm. What the…?” The bats were crawling upon the yeti-skin rug where she and Vlad had made love earlier. “Hey, what are you kids up to?” she asked the colony.
“Occipital lobes,” they squeaked. “Nommy, nommy, nom, nom.”
She noticed that they were feasting upon small bits of gray matter that had leaked out of both vampires’ pointy ears and were scattered about the snow-white fur. “Unholy guano!” Elizabeth needed to wake Vlad. It was time to break out the good stuff. After six hundred years, the couple had just reached a milestone in their love life: We megbaszed our kibaszott brains out!
The Countess howled up through the tunnels and up toward the battlements to wake her lover. She yearned to tell him about her big plan to save their home, the bats, and oh, what a lovely mess they’d made. It would take something nuclear to really clean that yeti rug.
The disgusted Grim Reaper (I am not your blessed maid!”) had already threatened to resign last night.
*** Adorned in matching…
Barnett, Fred. Bats (Kindle Locations 1906-1930). . Kindle Edition.